Escape to Petra
by KathyG
Summary: In story #9 of my end-times series, it is the middle of the Tribulation. A Satanically-indwelt Antonio Puccini is determined to force the Jews to end their sacrifices and to worship him. They must flee Jerusalem for the ancient rock city of Petra. Can the angels persuade two estranged men to forego their quarrel and help the Jerusalem residents to escape the Antichrist?
1. Prologue

**ESCAPE TO PETRA**

**By KathyG.**

**What would Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria do, if they found themselves during the end-times scenario prophesied in the Bible, prior to Jesus' coming? What kinds of assignments would they receive? How would they handle their assignments? This alternate-universe series is my attempt to answer that question, to surmise how the angels would handle the events of the Rapture and the Tribulation.**

**The first story in this ongoing series was written by Robin Day and myself. The rest, I am writing on my own.**

**In story #9 of my end-times series, it is the middle of the Tribulation. A Satanically-indwelt Antonio Puccini is determined to force the Jews to end their sacrifices and to worship him. They must flee Jerusalem for the ancient rock city of Petra. Can the angels persuade two estranged men to forego their quarrel and help the Jerusalem residents to escape the Antichrist? In story #9 of my end-times series, it is the middle of the Tribulation. A Satanically-indwelt Antonio Puccini is determined to force the Jews to end their sacrifices and to worship him. They must flee Jerusalem for the ancient rock city of Petra. Can the angels persuade two estranged men to forego their quarrel and help the Jerusalem residents to escape the Antichrist?**

**PROLOGUE**

David Weizmann paced back and forth in his living room, shaking his head. His shoes made soft thuds on the carpet. The lamps glowed softly throughout the room; since it was night, David had closed the blinds and drawn the curtains. His heater softly hummed in the background, emitting its warmth throughout the living room. Rain softly drummed on the windowsill near his lamp.

Benjamin, his cousin, perched on the couch, watching him. "What's wrong?" Ben asked, for the sixth time. "Ever since the angels left, you've been preoccupied."

David turned to Ben. "I have," he said. "God has called me to have a role in getting the residents of Jerusalem away before it's too late, and I don't even know what I'm supposed to do. Very soon, Puccini is going to desecrate the temple, and then we've all got to flee to Petra. If it were up to me, our people would be doomed—I can't do a thing to save them." He sighed. "We will be anyway, if God doesn't remove the cold weather and this rain. And especially the rain. If the rain keeps up, the rivers will flood and the roads to Petra will be impassable. Our people can't flee in flooded conditions and frigid temperatures."

Ben rose to his feet. "Surely the weather will turn warm and dry soon. But even if it stays cold, the people can evacuate in it if they have to. But you're right; flooded conditions will hinder our pursuit." He cleared his throat. "Maybe _you_ can't save our people. But what about our cousin?"

David turned on him, fists clenched. "Don't you ever mention his name again!" he roared. "I don't even want to think about Jacob! I hate that man—I never want to see his face again!"

Ben approached him. Taking a deep breath, he put his hand on his cousin's shoulder. "I know you don't," he said softly. "But Jacob _is_ the prime minister now, and has been since before the Rapture. And he's going to have to help the people evacuate. Don't you think it's time—?"

David pushed Ben's hand off his shoulder. Suppressing the urge to shout at Ben again, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ben," he said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. But it infuriates me to even think about Jacob. Also…having no nicotine makes me irritable." He bit his lower lip, and Ben chuckled, an understanding smile crossing his face. David had made the decision, quite recently, to quit smoking; Andrew, the Angel of Death, had given him some nicotine patches. "I don't even want to consider the idea, Ben, so don't ask me again. You go to him if you want—I'm not."

Ben shook his head. "Have you forgotten I'm a wanted man?" he reminded David. "If I show up at the Knesset, I'll be arrested. Even if I wore my disguise, I'd still be at risk of discovery—too many people have seen me in it now."

"Well, let one of the angels approach him, then, because I'm not!" David retorted. Without another word, he left the room.

Unknown to him, four angels watched David as he switched on the overhead light in the kitchen, then poured a glass of milk. "Benjamin is right," Tess commented. "Unless Prime Minister Jacob Barak gets involved, the evacuation will not go smoothly and many lives will be lost. And David is the only one, now, who can go to his office or his home to persuade him." Glowering at David, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head in disapproval.

With a sigh, Monica watched David for a long moment. He put the carton of milk back into the fridge, then plopped onto a straight-backed pine chair next to the kitchen table, holding his glass. A combination of deep sadness for David and a sense of urgency for Jerusalem welled up in the angel's heart. David, she knew, had only a short time to get together with Jacob. The fate of the Jerusalem residents, if not all of Israel, hung in the balance. She couldn't bear to see him allow it to slip by.

"He's got to hurry," she said. "The lives of Jews depend on his decision. But his feud with Jacob could ruin everything." She brushed her hair out of her eyes. Her pearl earrings swung as she shook her head.

"Baby, God allows no one to ruin His plans. But He does give people the chance to choose whether they will cooperate with His plan for His people, or interfere," Tess said.

Gloria nodded agreement. "God works through people," she said. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "And God can also change the weather."

"We will be praying for that," Tess assured her.

David Weizmann and Jacob Barak had been bitter enemies for several years, since before the Rapture, prior to Jacob's election as prime minister. A quarrel had severed their friendship. Since then, there had been no contact between the two cousins.

"We don't have much time," Tess said. "We have to work fast, to reconcile the two so they can cooperate with the Father's plan, instead of interfering with it and bringing on the deaths of thousands. God is going to send us reinforcements for this assignment."

"Who?" Gloria gazed quizzically at the supervisor angel, head tilted.

"You'll discover for yourself, soon," Andrew assured her.

Draining his near-empty glass, David set it in the sink; it made a loud clink. He gazed out the window at the velvety-black sky for a moment, and at the raindrops pounding the window. _So cloudy and cold. And so wet!_ he thought, before he trudged back to the living room to rejoin his other cousin. "I need to put on a nicotine patch," he said out loud. "The lack of a cigarette is wearing me down, making me edgy. And my grief for my sister isn't helping me any." He sighed. "At least my house survived the earthquake intact. If only Deborah had been here, she would have survived, too!" He groaned, then trudged out of the kitchen. 

**END OF PROLOGUE **

3


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The next day, David, wearing a thick brown coat and a woolen plaid muffler, pulled up in front of the hotel where his friends, the Dalys and the Whittakers, were staying. _I ought to invite them to stay with me once more,_ he thought. _As they did when they first arrived. I believe I will—it will save them rent money, and it will give me some much-needed company. They haven't stayed with me since before my sister's death in the earthquake._

Pain welled as the memory of that awful day came back to him. Reaching for the Bible he kept in his car, he ran his fingers over its soft leather cover. Then, forcing a smile on his face, he stepped out of the car; the door slammed with a thud. At least, if his friends stayed with him, he wouldn't be so lonesome. How he missed his sister! Overhead, a dove flew, cooing softly till it disappeared into the thick gray clouds. Rain drummed his scalp, running down his face.

_At least the nicotine patch is helping—I don't feel so irritable and edgy now._ He wrapped his arms around his chest. _I sure feel cold, though! This cold front certainly moved in without warning. So did this rainstorm, this heavy downpour!_

"God is with you, David," a familiar Irish voice spoke behind him. "You are never alone."

Startled, David whirled around. To his amazement, the angel Monica stood behind him. She wore a pair of sneakers and a cap made of thick velvet trimmed with artificial fur now dripping with rainwater. A beige raincoat draped her slim body.

A joyful smile spread across his face. "Monica! You're back!" He extended his arms toward her.

Monica laughed. "Yes, God has sent me back, and the other angels, too." She hugged him.

Dropping his arms to his sides, David bit his lower lip. "I think I can guess why."

Monica nodded, as sadness welled up in her eyes. A car horn honked down the street, startling both of them, then Monica turned her attention back to David. "You know part of it, but not all of it. Yes, God has sent us to do our parts in helping your people reach safety in Petra. But there is one man who has a most important role in performing that job, David, and only you have the means, now, to reach him." She paused, as apprehension filled David's gut. "Jacob Barak. Your cousin."

David gaped at her. He couldn't believe what Monica was asking him to do. He, of all people, could not approach Prime Minister Jacob Barak, even if Jacob _was_ his and Ben's cousin! They had not been friends for years. Barak hated him, and the feeling was mutual. Jacob was the last person David ever wanted to see or speak to. He rubbed his forehead, then frowned at Monica.

"Uh—that is the role God is assigning me?" he asked, his voice rising. "The ministry you told me about, last week?" The compassionate angel nodded.

David threw up his arms. "Monica, listen to me. Jacob and I haven't been on speaking terms for years," he said. "There's no way I could approach him now! I'm not the one to go to him and persuade him to—uh, do what?" He gazed down at his scuffed leather shoes and the lengthy shadow they cast from their sides.

Monica laid a hand on his shoulder; he raised his head. "David, listen to _me_! You're the only one who can. Anyone else would have to go through much protocol just to get an audience with him. As his cousin, you have ready access to him that not even a powerful dignitary can have. Nor Ben, since he's wanted for attempted murder." She paused. "It will be Jacob's job to call out the Israeli Defense Forces to evacuate the people when the time comes. And he has only a very short time, now, to make his preparations."

David shoved her hand away; clenching his fists, he glared at her. "Get someone else to do it. Even if I were willing, Monica, he would not listen to me!" he snapped. "Think Jacob's going to listen to one he hates? I know better!" He took a deep breath. "I am the last person who can speak with Jacob Barak, and I have no desire to! So I repeat: get someone else!"

He glanced toward the hotel entrance. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to find my friends." Without a backward glance, he stalked toward the glass door and swung it inward. The door slowly swung shut behind him, making no sound.

Minutes later, he approached the third-floor room occupied by his friend, Ryan Whittaker. He knocked three times. No one answered. A moment later, he knocked again. Still no response.

_They must have gone out,_ he thought. Strolling down the carpeted hall toward the room of Ryan's brother-in-law, Richard Daly, he paused in front of that door. To his dismay, no one answered his knock.

_Richard and Ryan must have gone out together, with their families,_ he thought. Sighing, he leaned against the door for a long moment, gazing down at his shoes as they flattened the tufts of carpet beneath them. He then trudged toward the elevator. _I'll have to look for them._

As he re-entered the spacious main lobby, a few minutes later, an Israeli Defense Forces soldier approached him, revolver swinging in its holster at his side.

"Yes?" David tried to suppress his wariness.

"You are David Weizmann?" The man stood ramrod-straight as he spoke, looking David in the eye.

"Yes." David nodded. _"Shalom."_

"And _shalom_ to you." The man relaxed his stance. "I am Miki, and I was sent to find you. Your friends are dining on the IDF base, in the mess hall. If you'll come with me, I will take you to them."

David nodded. Something about this man told David he could trust him, although he was a stranger. "Very well. I will go with you." He looked at the insignia on the soldier's khaki uniform. "You are a private?"

"Yes." Miki nodded. "A recruit, to be exact. I just finished basic training days ago."

David smiled wanly. "Good. With the danger Israel is about to be in, you are just what we need at the moment."

He followed the soldier to his jeep and climbed in. To his relief, the recruit had pulled up the cover to keep the rain out of the seats. Out of the corner of his eye, David studied his companion as they sped down the busy street. The soldier appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His wavy hair was light-colored, and his skin appeared bronze.

_Probably from all the time he spends in the sun,_ David decided. _When there _is_ sun, that is!_ He grimaced at the gray clouds overhead, then glanced at the soldier's arm. _If all that muscle's any indication, he works out quite a bit, too._ He looked down at the gun still dangling in the soldier's holster. _And woe to anyone who tries to harm him!_ He smiled.

Fifteen minutes later, Miki drove through the entrance of the IDF base. "I request permission to bring this man in," he told the guard on duty. "He's with me, and his friends are waiting for him in the mess hall." The guard waved him on.

A few minutes later, Miki pulled up in front of the mess hall and climbed out. David did the same.

A loud cacophony of voices assaulted David's ears as he followed Miki through the door. Rows of long tables lined the huge room, where men and women in uniforms sat eating and chatting. Dust motes floated in the air, illuminated by bright overhead lights. "Come on. We'll get something to eat first, then find your friends," Miki said.

As the two men stood in line, David peered intently at one of the two cooks serving the food. Could it be—? 

**END OF CHAPTER 1 **

3


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

_Tess!_ he thought. _It's Tess! What is she doing, cooking meals for the IDF?_

Several minutes later, the two men reached the counter where Tess and one of the other cooks was serving the food. Tess, David noticed, looked grumpy; a scowl etched her face.

_She must be having a bad day,_ he thought. Out loud, he greeted her with a smile. "Hello, Tess. I didn't expect to find you here."

Tess snorted. "Well, I am, and I can only trust that you'll have more appreciation for my cooking than your new friend here." She glared at the IDF recruit. "He tells me he doesn't like my creamy broccoli pasta."

Miki chuckled, then wrinkled his nose as he gazed down at the pasta dish. "We just don't share the same tastes, Tess. Personally, I prefer the tuna knish. You wouldn't happen to have some of that, now, would you?"

Dropping her wooden spoon on the counter with a clatter, Tess put her left hand on her hip and glared at Miki. She pressed her right palm against the counter surface. "No, I don't, Mi—uh, Miki, and I won't be making it for another few days. I'll have you know I made this creamy broccoli pasta myself, and I just happen to be proud of it. And I won't have new recruits telling me it's not good." She picked up the wooden spoon and waved it for emphasis. "Now, you have a choice—you can eat what we offer you, or you can go hungry!"

Raising his hands in surrender, Miki then held up his tray. "Yes, ma'am," he teased. Still glaring at him, Tess piled some pasta on a plastic dish and handed it to the recruit.

Despite the turmoil churning in his heart, David couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the grumpy angel scold the new IDF recruit. _Never tell a cook you don't like what she's made,_ he thought, averting his face to hide the grin sneaking across. _They all take it so personally! Even angels, it appears._

Silently, he followed Miki toward through the rows of tables. To his dismay, he could not see a single place empty on any of the wooden benches.

"We're going to have a hard time finding a seat, I'm afraid," he muttered. Miki nodded agreement.

David gritted his teeth. Were they going to have to eat standing up?

"David!" A shout from across the mess hall startled the Israeli. Silence descended across the vast dining area for a moment, as David scanned it for the source of the shout. To his relief, Richard Daly stood in the back, waving his right hand. The chatter resumed.

This time, David led the way, rushing down the aisle toward his friends, tray against his chest. "Come join us." Ryan rose to his feet. "We've saved a couple of spots for you and Miki."

Grinning his thanks, David slid onto the edge of the hard, unyielding wooden bench; Miki perched next to him. A captain sat on the other side of Ryan Daly, across the table; he glanced at Miki. "Hello, private."

"Captain." Miki saluted, then picked up his fork.

David gaped at Richard, then at Ryan. "What are you doing here?"

Richard and Christina exchanged glances; Rachel took a swallow of Coke. Next to her, Kristen shrugged. "Richard's car went out," she said. She turned to feed her two-year-old son who sat in a high chair beside her. Food smeared his cherubic faces and his bib. "Little Nicole's in a carrier at my feet," she told David. "She's sleeping at the moment." Kristen bent sideways to check on her. David smiled. He loved the Whittaker babies.

Richard grimaced. "My car went dead on the road, and we couldn't get it to start up again. Miki, there, stopped to help; he called a tow truck to come get our car."

Christina swallowed a piece of broccoli. "Then he offered to bring us here until the car's fixed, since he had to return to the base; a mechanic is working on it now. So here we are." She patted her hair. "It was so good of the guards on duty to let us in. I wasn't at all sure they would, since we're civilians."

David smiled. "Well, you're in good hands, and there's no safer place to wait than here." He paused. "By the way, I saw—uh, my cousin yesterday. He's doing fine." He had suddenly remembered that the captain might know of Ben Weizmann from the wanted posters that had been displayed on television. He turned to Miki. "My cousin is a loyal Jew who became a believer in Yeshua recently." Miki nodded his approval.

Richard raised his hand. "We've already asked the blessing, David, but since you just got here, let's do so again."

The assembled group bowed heads for prayer. "Lord, thank You for this meal," Richard prayed. "Amen."

"Amen," the others echoed.

He raised his head, and resumed eating. David took a bite of the pasta; it tasted soft and creamy to him. A moment later, the IDF recruit looked from Richard to Ryan, then to the members of their families. "Your friends have been telling me a little about themselves," he told David.

Richard nodded, as he leaned his elbow on the dining table. "Yes. Until recently, I worked as an airline pilot in New York City, and Ryan was a private pilot for Antonio Puccini. During the last few years, my wife helped run a church orphanage. But we're all in hiding now, as well as our daughter—from Puccini. Especially Ryan and Kristen and their babies. Puccini wanted to kill them and take their babies for the state, to be brainwashed."

Ryan nodded. He drained his glass, then set it down with a clink. "My wife and I both worked for Puccini," he explained to Miki. "Kristen used to be Puccini's secretary, and she was quite efficient." He smiled at his wife, who blushed; he chuckled. "She's in hiding now, as I am. She's a wonderful mother to our two babies."

He craned his head to smile at his son, who waved his hands. "Dad-dy! Hungry!" Ryan laughed.

Richard chuckled. "And I've got a good family, too. My wife's a good woman, and our daughter is a good girl. A wonderful girl."

Christina and Rachel exchanged smiles. A rhinestone necklace adorned Rachel's neck, David noticed. _She always did love jewelry,_ he thought.

Rachel smiled wryly. "I'm adopted." She wiped her chin. "My real parents are dead." She glanced down at her plate. "I like this pasta. I wish I could tell Tess."

Richard smiled. "Me, too. We'll have to get Tess' recipe. And I have a hunch she already knows you like it." Leaning back, he furrowed his eyebrows. "We're all going to be in hiding soon." He coughed. "It's been several days, now, since Puccini came back to life, indwelt by—" Glancing at the captain, he cleared his throat. "Well, all I can say is that the—uh, pivotal event can't be much longer now."

"No, it can't," David agreed. "And we've got to get ready. We'd better pray for good travel conditions when it comes. Including good weather—we can't have this heavy rain continuing to pour down when the event occurs." He swallowed. "We must also pray that it'll happen on any day but a Saturday." He glanced down at his plate of creamy broccoli pasta, ignoring the captain's puzzled gaze. "But right now, let's eat."

For the next several minutes, talk dwindled while the Dalys, the Whittakers, David, Miki, and the captain ate their dinners. A calmness descended on David as he munched his chunky, yet creamy food. Miki, he noticed, picked at his plate.

_He really does not like this pasta,_ David thought, amused. _That's really too bad—it's quite delicious!_

At last, the captain laid down his fork and leaned back. "Our new cook is certainly worth her pay," he commented.

Richard grinned. "Tess is an excellent cook," he agreed, between mouthfuls. He glanced at the recruit. "I'm not so sure that Miki agrees, though." Miki made a face, then laughed.

Rachel gazed at David quizzically. "Why does it matter if it's Saturday?" She scratched her forehead.

David wiped his chin, then laid his paper napkin beside the plate. "Well, Rachel, Saturday is our Sabbath, and Jews abide by strict rules of rest on that day. That's been especially the case since the new temple was rebuilt. One of those rules is that we can only travel a short distance on the Sabbath—a little over a half-mile, to be exact. So we need a nice dry day, minus flooded conditions, that falls on some other day of the week."

Rachel frowned, then nodded. "It's been cold and wet for two days."

"Yes." Christina bit her lower lip. "We must pray that it'll warm up, fast. And that the rain will stop."

The captain frowned. For a long moment, he shook his head, biting his lower lip. At last, he set down his coffee cup; it clinked in its saucer. He gazed at Richard, then David. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't have time to ask you about it now. Right now, I'm faced with a problem and I need some help."

He paused, then turned to look at Miki. "I don't usually come to new recruits with these kinds of issues, private, but you have already shown yourself to be an above-caliber soldier with exceptional ability to come up with solutions. Your sergeant has commended you highly to me. Therefore, I am going to ask you something."

"Yes, Captain?" Miki sat ramrod straight, gazing into the officer's eyes. The others sat silently, motionlessly, gazing at the two. Only little Jeremy waved his plastic cup, apparently unconcerned.

The officer wiped his chin. "Because of the recent events in Rome—Puccini's death and resurrection—our prime minister's pilots have been detained in Rome. They flew one of Barak's officials there for the celebration and they haven't been able to return since. At the moment, there are no substitutes who can be called on to fly Barak to a meeting he's been ordered to attend in Rome."

Miki nodded. He said nothing, but furrowed his eyebrows as he listened. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"The meeting is scheduled for early tomorrow afternoon, so he needs a qualified pilot and first officer no later than tonight. Do you personally know of anyone who can fill in for his regular pilots?"

Miki leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling and laying his hands on the table's surface. Then, for a long moment, he gazed down at his half-empty plate. The others sat silently, watching him.

At last, Miki raised his head. He looked at Richard, then at Ryan. "Two well-qualified pilots are sitting right here at this table, captain," he said, at last. Richard and Ryan froze, gaping at him. "As you know, Ryan, until recently, flew for Puccini, and Richard used to fly in America. Both men lack the certification to fly an Israeli plane, but they've got security clearance. So if the certification qualification can be disregarded, I can think of no better pilots to substitute for the ones who are still in Rome."

David exchanged startled glances with Richard, whose eyebrows furrowed. It surprised David that Miki would recommend two Americans. And Richard, for his part, couldn't believe his ears. As Miki had just said, he was only authorized to fly planes based in America, not those of Israel. Besides, he had no desire to take on such a job—not even temporarily. He was willling to help pilot the evacuees to Petra, but not to become a pilot for Prime Minister Barak.

"Uh, how do you know of us anyway?" Richard asked Miki. He rubbed his hair back as he spoke.

Miki smiled. "I have resources," he said simply.

Richard chuckled, looking down at his own empty plate. He then gazed into the captain's eyes. "Thanks for the recommendation, Miki, but I'd rather not." He looked at Ryan. "Ryan and I have other plans." 

**END OF CHAPTER 2 **

4


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

At that moment, an announcement sounded from the mess hall's loudspeaker. "Richard Daly, there is a party who wishes to meet you in the mess hall entrance! Richard Daly."

Frowning, Richard half-turned his upper body, craning his neck to look at the entrance. "I don't see anybody I know," he muttered. Rising to his feet, he smiled at his wife. "I'll be back in a moment." Christina squeezed his hand in response.

Richard pulled on his raincoat and then strode toward the entrance, his shoes thudding on the concrete floor. As he stepped outside into the frigid temperatures and the heavy downpour, wrapping his arms around his chest, a familiar face approached him, wearing a gray winter coat. "Hello, Richard," he said.

Richard gaped at him. "Andrew! It's good to see you." He furrowed his eyebrows. "But why did you have me paged?"

"It was the only way I could get you alone. Don't worry, I won't keep you out here for more than a minute. I know how cold and wet it is." Glancing up at the thick gray clouds blanketing the sky, the sandy brown-haired angel of death thrust his hands into his coat pockets. A hood framed his head. "God has a message for you—and for Ryan."

Richard nodded. An uneasy feeling welled up in him. He tightened his grip around his chest as he fixed his eyes on Andrew's face. Soldiers passed them in both directions, their shoes sloshing through puddles.

"Don't turn down Miki's recommendation," Andrew advised him. "God wants you to accept the job—He has authorized it. The reason will become apparent later."

Richard sighed, dropping his arms to his sides. He knew from past experience that when God sent an angel to tell him to do something, it meant he had to do it. In this case, though, he didn't like what he was being told to do.

Reluctantly, the pilot nodded acquiescence. "Very well," he said. "I'll do it."

"Good." Andrew patted his shoulder. "I must go now, but I'll be back." He vanished.

Richard re-entered the mess hall and returned to his table. Wiping the raindrops off his face, he removed his drippoing raincoat, draped it back over his seat, and slid back into his place on the bench. For a moment, he paused, then cleared his throat.

The captain leaned forward, arms on the table. "Richard, would you be willing to reconsider?" he asked. "We could really use your help in this matter. Yours, too, Ryan."

Richard grimaced, then exchanged a glance with Ryan. He sighed, then acquiesced. "We'll do it, if Barak wants us to," Richard said.

He didn't really want to accept the job, and he could see from the look on his brother-in-law's face that neither did Ryan. However, if it meant thwarting Puccini's evil plans, perhaps it would be worth it. He did want to do whatever he could to frustrate the Antichrist's schemes, especially now that Puccini was indwelt by Satan.

The captain smiled. "Thank you. I will speak to the prime minister and give you his answer. Under the circumstances, I'm sure he will approve Miki's recommendation."

Miki nodded his approval. "I happen to know that Richard Daly is one of the best pilots there are."

Richard chuckled. "Well, Ryan is also an excellent pilot. I can vouch for that."

Christina laid a hand on his arm. "All I ask is that you be careful," she said. Kristen nodded agreement.

"I will." Richard kissed the side of her forehead. "We both will. Don't you worry about that." He glanced at Kristen as he spoke.

Christina turned to the captain. "Are you sure it's safe to fly in this weather?"

The captain chuckled. "Certainly it is. It's only raining and quite cold, not stormy. Your husbands will fly on instruments if they have to."

Hours later, back in his living room, David leaned back on his couch, pondering the events of the day. Earlier, the rain had stopped, but thick gray clouds still blanketed the sky. The rain could start back up again, he knew. Meanwhile, he still needed the heater on, as the temperatures had warmed only slightly. The mattress sagged and creaked underneath him as he shifted position.

_I hope it won't start to rain again. If it does, and if it keeps up, the rivers will become flooded and that will block the roads,_ he thought. He grimaced. _I can't believe the prime minister authorized two Americans to fly for him, even if it _is_ just temporary!_ He glared at the ceiling. _I also can't believe I forgot to invite my friends to come stay here, either._ He sighed. He would just have to endure his loneliness a little longer, until he had another chance to invite them to come back.

The captain had returned to his office to phone Prime Minister Barak; minutes later, he had returned to the mess hall to inform Richard and Ryan that Barak had given his approval, since both pilots already had security clearance. They were to fly Barak to Rome early the next morning. Right then, they had all bowed their heads, asking God to keep any further rain at bay and to provide clear, warm weather. It still remained cloudy, though, and the weather forecast predicted the possibility of more heavy rain to come.

Shaking his head, David sighed. _We definitely need a weather miracle! Oh, well, the same God who sent Gloria to help us find Deborah's body and little Rachel can also clear the clouds away and keep the rain from coming back._ He chuckled. _Rachel would love me calling her little at her age, wouldn't she?!_ Reaching into a nearby box on the mahogany coffee table, he pulled out a nicotine patch and stuck it on his chest. He sighed. "How I yearn for a cigarette!"

"Hello, David." A familiar Irish voice startled David; he half-turned to find Monica standing in the kitchen entrance.

Smiling sheepishly, David leaned back. "Have a seat, Monica. I saw Tess today."

"I know. She's on assignment, too." Approaching him, she patted his arm. "Your nicotine cravings will eventually subside, David. Ask God for help, and He will give it to you."

David nodded. "Thanks. It's very hard, I'll tell you." Monica nodded. "What about Gloria and Andrew?"

"They're on assignment, as well. It was Andrew who persuaded Richard to accept the job as Barak's pilot." Monica perched on the edge of the couch, then folded her hands in her lap. "The abomination of desolation is going to take place in just a few days. That doesn't give any of us long to act."

David bit his lower lip. "I know." He frowned at the heater. "Even though the rain has stopped for the moment, it's still very cloudy, Monica, and there's still the threat of more rain to come. Flooded conditions will hinder our evacuation efforts. We will need the roads clear, to flee to Petra on. Not everyone will be able to travel there by plane."

"I know. Just keep praying for the weather conditions." The mattress sagged under her as Monica leaned toward David. She laid a hand on his arm. "David, won't you reconsider? Barak has got to authorize the evacuation, and you're the only one who can freely approach him."

"Why can't Miki's captain suggest it to him?" David snapped.

Monica's eyes welled up with compassion. "Because God hasn't chosen him to deliver the message. He has chosen _you_. Sometimes, David, people fight it when God chooses them for an important job, but He always has a good reason. You remember Moses and how he reacted when God first commissioned him."

David sighed heavily. "Yes. I remember, from my studies of the Torah. He begged God to choose someone else to lead his people out of Egypt. Tried to give God all kinds of excuses as to why he was the wrong man for the job." Monica nodded. "But—still…" His voice trailed off.

David leaned forward, gazing down at his thighs. He groaned. The memory of that awful day—the day he and Jacob Barak had quarreled—still hurt him, haunted him! He pressed his fingertips to his eyes as the events of that day came back…

"_How could you?" David shouted. "Those were my books—my best ones! And you burned them!" _

_Jacob pressed his lips into a tight line. He stood in front of his coffee table, glaring at David. "You embarrassed me in front of all those people," he hissed. "I told you I would pay you back, and I have." _

_David shoved him against the paneled wall. "Listen to me!" he said. "You may have paid me back, Jacob, but you will spend the rest of your life suffering for it. Because as of now, you are no longer my cousin; I never want to see you again! I hope you die and go to—!" He broke off. _

"_Get out!" Jacob hollered. "Get out of my house and never come back! Now!" _

_Without a word, David hurried toward the living room door. He paused just long enough to slam it behind him…_

David shook his head. "We haven't even seen each other since," he said. "We don't want to, either, Monica. I'm the last person he would ever listen to."

"Then ask God to help you," Monica urged. "Ask God to open your cousin's heart." She paused. "You've got to ask Jehovah to take the hate out of your heart. Both of you. It's poisoning you both."

Shaking his head violently, he shifted his gaze to the carpeted floor. He ground the toes of his shoes against the carpet tufts, flattening them; he clenched his hands into balls, pressing them against his thighs. His fingernails dug into his palms. Inside, he was fighting a tumultuous battle. On the one hand, he didn't want to allow his pride to result in his people's destruction. On the other hand, the thought of even approaching—let alone pleading with—his cousin Jacob repelled him. He just knew that Barak would laugh in his face and throw him out. Feeling restless, he rose to his feet and stalked back and forth, in a straight line. For several moments, he paced thus. Monica sat quietly, watching him.

At last, he pivoted to face her, and rubbed his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He sagged his shoulders. "All right," he finally said. "I don't want to do it, but I will."

Monica smiled her approval. "You won't be sorry, David. God is with you." She vanished.

Sighing, David trudged toward the cell phone on his coffee table. For a long moment, he just stood there, reminiscing. Again, memories of the horrible incident that had severed their friendship rushed through David's head…the memory of the awful day when he had discovered that Jacob had burned his treasured books…the awful shouting match that had followed in Jacob's living room, an hour later…the door slamming as David had stalked outside, vowing never to speak to his cousin again. He picked up the cell phone and cradled it in the palm of his hand.

_God, help me!_ he prayed, as he dialed. 

**END OF CHAPTER 3 **

4


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

At the Knesset, the receptionist's phone jangled. The newly-hired temporary receptionist, Gloria, picked it up. "Prime Minister Barak's office," she said.

A pause. "Gloria? Is that you?"

Gloria beamed. Leaning forward, she spoke into the receiver. "Yes! Hello, David. I'm working as your cousin's receptionist at this time. Do you wish to speak with him?" She fingered her glasses as she spoke, then rested her left arm on the smooth surface of the desk. An overhead light illuminated every object that lay on its glossy surface.

A sigh on the other end. "I don't _wish_ to, Gloria, but Monica has convinced me that God wants me to. If you could call Jacob to the phone, I'd be most grateful." He paused. "I—I need to come to his office and see him. It's an emergency, I'm afraid. The fate of our people is at stake."

Gloria nodded. "Yes, I know it is. I'll speak with him. Hold on." She put David on hold, then switched to Barak's line.

"What is it, Gloria?" Barak's heavy Israeli accent reached Gloria's ears.

Gloria cradled the receiver between her ear and her shoulder. "Your cousin David is on the other line, waiting to speak to you. Shall I transfer him?"

A long pause. "I'll come in there." The line clicked.

The door behind her slammed open; Jacob Barak rushed into the room, his face beet-red, his shoes softly thudding on the thick carpet. He looked immaculate in a polyester suit, as he always did, but rage contorted his face. "Why did you even take his call?" he roared.

Swiveling her leather-upholstered armchair, Gloria leaned back to gaze up at the irate prime minister, bewilderment etched on her face. "I don't understand, sir. He _is_ your cousin."

"I don't want to talk to him, though!" Jacob shouted. "I want nothing to do with the man!"

Gloria rose to her feet. "You have had a quarrel with him?" she asked, gently.

Jacob sighed. For a long moment, he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, then fingered the diamond pendant pinned to his collar. It sparkled in the light emanating from the overhead bulb. "Years ago. We haven't spoken since." He shook his head.

Gloria touched his shoulder. "He wishes to come here and speak with you. He says it's an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?" Barak glared at her.

"An emergency that could affect the fate of your people." She dropped her hand to her side.

As Gloria stood silently, her employer stared at the phone. He seethed inside. The nerve of David, to ask for a meeting with him! With all his heart, he yearned to refuse to even speak to his cousin, just to hurt him. However, what if it really was an emergency? What if David had been ordered by his employer to call the prime minister? Barak had _no_ desire to alienate Puccini's right-hand man, Elijah Dayan!

At last, he sighed. "I'll talk to him," he muttered, "but I'll take the call in my office." He rubbed his forehead again, then shook his head.

Back in his office, Barak gripped the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What is it, David?!" he asked, his voice harsh.

"It is just what I told your receptionist, Jacob. I need to meet with you." David's voice sounded carefully neutral.

"David, I'm a busy man. Don't bother me!" Jacob snapped.

As he started to hang up on his cousin, he reconsidered, the same thought occurring to him now that had persuaded him to take the call, to begin with. Elijah Dayan, he knew, had employed David for some years. As far as he knew, David still worked for him. Suppose Dayan had ordered his cousin to set up this meeting with him? He could ill afford to risk the hostility of his ex-foreign minister, now assistant to Antonio Puccini. He glanced out the window at the late-afternoon sunlight pouring into the room.

With a sigh, he held the receiver back against his ear. "Very well. I don't want to even see you, David—I will not pretend otherwise. But I _will_ meet with you, this once. Come on by; I will wait for you."

"Thank you, Jacob. I'll be there." A dial tone replaced David's voice.

Jacob stepped back into the receptionist area. "Send David to my office when he arrives," he ordered Gloria. The angel nodded acquiescence. Shaking his head, Jacob returned to his office and poured himself a glass of red wine, clutching it. The crystal glass sparkled in the sunlight as he took sips of the ruby-colored liquid inside. He looked at the thermometer. _I'll have to wear my coat going home,_ he thought, _as I had to, coming here._

Minutes later, David entered the Knesset, wrapped in his brown coat. For a long moment, he stood in the front lobby, taking deep breaths, feeling the heater's warmth flow through his body. _Please, God,_ he silently prayed, _surely there is someone else You could have chosen for this!_

With a sigh, he trudged toward the elevator, shaking his head, shoes softly thudding on the thick carpet. There was no getting out if it; he would just have to go through with this order from Jehovah and take the consequences. A few minutes later, the elevator stopped on the floor his cousin worked on. The door slid open.

Inching down the hallway, he entered the elegant suite where he saw Gloria perched at the receptionist's desk. "Hello, Gloria." He raised his hand in greeting. "I must say, I'm not really surprised to see you here."

Gloria laughed. "No, you shouldn't be, not by now. The Father has assigned me to work under Barak." She half-turned her body to lean toward the mahogany door behind her. "Your cousin is waiting for you." She smiled encouragingly.

With a nod of thanks, David set his jaw and marched toward that door. He knocked softly. "Come in," a familiar voice called.

Pushing the door open, David entered the luxuriously furnished room. In front of the window, Jacob Barak remained seated at his desk, eyes cold. He didn't take them off David, as the nervous man shut the door. A half-empty wine glass stood on a round coaster on his desk; David could see the wine glass's reflection in the desk's glossy, polished surface.

"Did Elijah Dayan send you here?" Jacob asked, bluntly.

David shook his head, suppressing an amused smile. "No, Jacob, but I _was_ sent, nevertheless. I'm sure you can guess that nothing trivial would have brought me here after all these years."

Jacob rose to his feet. His shoes made shallow dents in the carpet tufts as he circled his desk to face David. "Will, since it _is_ important, why don't you tell me? As I told you on the phone, I'm a busy man, and I have no time to chat."

"And neither do I." David's voice turned cold. "Rest assured I am not here to waste your time or my own. I'm here because the lives of Jerusalem residents are at stake."

He approached the desk to face his cousin, in turn; both men stood sideways to its front edge. The two cousins looked each other squarely in the eye.

"What do you mean, at stake?" Jacob's voice dripped scorn and hostility.

David flinched. _You're not making this easy, Jacob!_ Out loud, he said, "I don't know if you're aware of this, but Antonio Puccini is going to break the treaty he made with you, three-and-a-half years ago."

"What do you mean?!" Jacob clenched his hands while pressing his right fist against his desk.

"I mean, he's going to withdraw his offer of protection to our people. And he's going to desecrate the new temple. When he does, our lives are going to be in mortal danger if we stay in Jerusalem, Jacob. We will have to flee, all residents of this city."

"Flee?" Jacob spat into his ash tray. "To where?"

"To Petra." David paused. "In Jordan."

Jacob snorted. "Now, what does this have to do with me?"

"What does…" David's voice trailed off, as he stared at his cousin. "You're the prime minister, Jacob! Think about it! When Puccini desecrates the temple, the whole city will have to be evacuated, immediately; furthermore, it will have to be done in a safe, orderly fashion." He took a step toward his cousin. "Someone needs to order the Israeli Defense Forces to conduct the evacuation, so that chaos and confusion will not break out. That someone is you, Jacob. You will have to be the one to issue the orders."

Jacob put his hands on his hips, a steely glint in his eyes. "You really believe that the man who promised our protection is going to go back on his word? Well, I do not!" Fists still clenched, he glared at David. "I take no orders or suggestions from you, and if you know what's good for you, you will leave—now!"

Rage and frustration seethed in David's heart. This meeting was turning out just as he had feared. Not only was Barak convinced that Puccini was no real threat, he was using the meeting as a chance to hurt and humiliate his cousin. David banged his fist on the desk, causing the ash tray and the wine glass to jolt.

"Are you so blind?" he shouted. "Or are you just so determined to hurt me in revenge that you're willing to harm our people as well? The lives of the people of Jerusalem are in real danger! Puccini _is_ going to turn his back on us, and the Arab nations are going to try to destroy us! Russia, too!" He swallowed. "I am not making this up—I have it on the highest authority!"

"Get out!" Jacob grabbed David by the coat collar. "I mean it—get out, and never come back!"

He shoved David toward the door; reaching around his cousin, he jerked it open with his left hand. He practically hurled David into the reception room; David banged his legs against Gloria's desk.

"Gloria, I never want this man to come here again!" Jacob ordered. "Do not take any more of his calls! If he ever calls again or comes by, refuse him!" He slammed the door. 

**END OF CHAPTER 4 **

3


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Gloria rose to her feet, sadness in her eyes. Pushing her chair back, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Don't give up," she urged David. "God is at work in this, even though you can't see it yet."

"Gloria's right." Monica appeared on the other side of the desk, a Heavenly glow pouring over her. "God has his hand on Jacob Barak, and He is quite capable of softening your cousin's heart and changing his mind. You've done what God told you to do, David. Now go home and pray for Jacob."

David sighed. "All right. I will. And Gloria—" He paused. "Uh, Gloria, I'm glad you're his receptionist. Perhaps, with you here, Jacob will eventually come around." Gloria touched his arm and smiled.

After he left, Gloria trudged toward the wall and pressed her nose against the paneling. "Please, Father, help him," she begged. "Please get through to Jacob before it's too late!"

"Amen," Monica softly prayed.

"He will, angel babies."

Gloria and Monica whirled to find Tess and Andrew gathered around the desk. Tess smiled at the newest angel. "As you and Monica told David, God is at work in this," she reminded Gloria.

"That's right." Andrew leaned against the desk. His face looked serious. "God has a Plan B in motion even as we speak, and a Plan C to follow should Plan B fail." Tess nodded agreement.

"That's right." Sam joined them. "And a Plan D, as well. This assignment is so important and so critical that God is pulling out all the stops. It's vitally important that Jacob Barak see the light, so he will do his part to get the people to safety. The Father is even sending in the Special Forces to help out, including myself."

"Yes." Tess nodded. "And even now, on my instructions, a friend is getting ready to pay a visit to David—a visit that will help set Plan B in motion."

Gloria approached her, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "And if this fails, then God will set up Plan C?"

"Yes." Tess looked from one to another. "But we're running out of time now. If Jacob does not listen to the Father very soon, many lives will be needlessly lost. We must listen carefully to the Father and do whatever He assigns us to do—when He tells us to do it."

Andrew bit his lower lip. "Yes. I don't want to help take Home the majority of the Jerusalem residents—not now. But if we're not successful, the other angels of death and I will be forced to."

Sam inclined his head. "Tess and Andrew are right." He glanced toward the door. "And now, I must go."

Gloria reached toward him. "Sam, couldn't you speak with Jacob?"

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "No, Gloria—God hasn't assigned me to do that. That is your assignment, and that of the other caseworkers. My job will come later." His eyebrows furrowed; a stern expression etched his face. "But whether I will be able to do my job when the time comes depends heavily on how successful you are." He looked from one angel to another, then vanished. Tess, Monica, and Andrew did the same.

Meanwhile, David spent the drive home praying out loud. He begged God to get through to Jacob; he asked Jehovah to help him with his own tumultuous emotions.

"God, please send someone whom Jacob will listen to," he prayed, as he into his driveway. To his amazement, he found Richard sitting on the porch steps. As soon as he stepped out of the car, the frigid air made him shiver.

"Hello, David." Richard rose to his feet. He glanced up and down the street. "Uh—could we talk inside?"

"Sure." As Richard picked up a small crate next to him, David unlocked his door and led the way in. The gray clouds hung like a thick blanket over the row of houses behind him.

At his invitation, Richard reclined on the end of the couch, then set the crate on the coffee table with a loud thud. David crossed the room to switch on the heater; its warmth immediately permeated the room. He then took his seat at the other end of the couch; the mattress sagged beneath him as he half-turned his body to face his friend. After Richard rubbed his hair, front to back, he cleared his throat. He looked very serious.

"David, this very day, I have bought some gold from a local Israeli. One Tess told me about when she was here last time. Cash has been nonexistent for the past few years. Even our debit cards will be useless very soon, as you know, so I want to be sure we have a ready supply of gold to trade with under the table." David nodded. He could only agree.

Richard glanced at the wooden crate. "I've brought some of it in this crate, for you. Ben's already got a disguise, thankfully, but he's going to need more than one if he's to remain free till we leave."

"Yes." David bit his lower lip. "If he gets too well known, even in his disguise, it won't take the authorities long to figure out who he is. That's why he couldn't visit Jacob at the Knesset."

"No, it won't, and he couldn't," Richard agreed. "If we can get him to Petra, he'll be safe till Jesus comes back, but we've got to keep him hidden through the next few days."

David nodded agreement. Shadows had started to fill the living room, he noticed; he reached sideways to switch on a table lamp. Its soft glow illuminated the area in front of the couch. He fixed his eyes on the crate for a few minutes.

"Leave the gold with me, and I'll purchase a new disguise for Ben." Pressing his fingertips under the rim of the cover, he pried the lid open. Gold coins lay in a pile, gleaming in the lamplight. "Thanks, Richard."

"You're welcome." Richard smiled wryly. "Actually, I can't take the credit for this, not really. Tess paid me a visit just before I left. She suggested that Ben would need a new disguise, and she gave me this idea for getting it for him."

David chuckled. "I trust you had no difficulty finding this man."

Richard shook his head. He exhaled slowly. "Actually, I did, David. I took a wrong turn, trying to avoid the earthquake rubble, and found myself hopelessly lost. I would have wandered forever, trying to get my bearings, if it hadn't been for Private Miki." He paused. "He pulled up next to me in his jeep. Told me he'd lead me to my destination, and he did."

David nodded. "Miki is a good man. I can see it in his eyes."

"Yes." Richard leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. "Monica tells me you went to see the prime minister today. How did it go?"

"Not well. Not well, at all." David grimaced. "Did she also tell you that he's my cousin?"

"No!" Richard gaped at him. "You never told me, either!"

David snorted. "Well, he is. He lived with Ben's family after the death of his parents as a toddler, so he came with the rest of us to Israel when we fled Yugoslavia. But we haven't spoken in years, so we may as well not even be cousins. We had a terrible quarrel a long time ago, Jacob and I."

David stared at an oil painting on the opposite wall. "I wouldn't have gone to see him today if Monica hadn't made it plain that God wanted me to. It seems Jehovah wants him to evacuate all the Jerusalem residents when Puccini commits the abomination of desolation. But Jacob won't even consider it—furthermore, he threw me out." He clenched both hands into balls. "He's convinced that Puccini is no threat."

Richard shook his head, pursing his lower lip. "That's terrible, David. I am so sorry." He paused. "What about Ben?"

David shrugged. "He's never had a quarrel with Ben, as far as I know."

Richard leaned forward, the soft, leather-bound mattress sagging beneath his weight. "Why don't you send Ben to see him, then?" Richard suggested. "Since Ben is his cousin, I'm sure Jacob won't have him arrested. Maybe he'll have better success than you had, in persuading Barak. Once you get him that new disguise, it should be safer for him to enter the Knesset than it was today."

"Hmm." David put a finger to chin, pondering that idea. At last, he nodded. "I'll do that. Thanks for the suggestion, Richard." He smiled. "Did Tess suggest that, Richard?"

Chuckling, Richard nodded. "Yes, she did."

David laughed. "That Tess thinks of everything!" With a grin, Richard agreed.

The two men rose to their feet. David slapped Richard on the shoulder. "Uh, Richard, I just want you to know that you and your family are welcome to stay with me until it's time to evacuate. Ryan and his family, too."

Richard smiled. "Thanks for the offer, David. However, I don't feel there's going to be time to take you up on it. I'm going to be away from Jerusalem much of the day tomorrow, and I really don't want my family leaving the hotel in my absence. I'm pretty sure Ryan feels the same way. And we've got to be ready to leave the city at a moment's notice." He touched his friend's arm. "Thanks, anyway, though."

David nodded. "Well, I've got some errands to run, so I've got to go now. I'll keep you informed."

"All right. We'll be praying, my wife and Rachel and I." Richard left, the door clicking shut behind him.

A few minutes later, David sped down the road toward a shop he sometimes patronized, the crate of gold resting on the passenger side of the front seat. He had already learned that its owner would accept gold instead of a debit card with no questions asked, if the price was right. He did not want to use his debit card this time, lest it become part of a trail that would lead to the arrest and conviction of his cousin—and possibly himself. He could be arrested, as well, for aiding and abetting a criminal, as he well knew. He took several detours to avoid the areas that had been hit by the earthquake.

He bought a black tweed suit, a black, broad-brimmed Jewish hat, a gray wig, and a matching beard from the owner, and paid for it with several gold coins. He added a gray overcoat and some matching winter accessories to the pile. _He'll look just like an Orthodox Jew when he puts these on!_ he thought, amused. Upon leaving the shop, he headed directly to the hotel where Ben was currently staying. On the third floor, Ben let him into his hotel room.

"I can't stay long, Ben. I've gotten a new disguise for you, so you can alternate between them. Some winter outfits, too." David handed him the plastic bags.

Ben nodded his thanks, then set the two shopping bags on his bed. The sun had set, so the lamps shed their soft glow throughout his room. Through the window, a thick blackness covered the sky.

David furrowed his eyebrows. "I also have a big favor to ask of you. Tell me, have you been in touch with Jacob since you moved to Rome?"

Ben shook his head. "No more than I was in touch with you. I should have been, but I wasn't." He smiled ruefully. "Why do you ask?" He raised his arm above his head and leaned it against the wall.

"Because Jacob needs someone to talk sense to him, and I can't do it." David's voice hardened. "Jacob and I despise each other. Since you've had no quarrel with him, maybe he'll listen to you." He paused. "Would you go to his office and talk to him, Ben? Wear your new disguise, then no one'll recognize you." He smiled. "You'll look just like an Orthodox Jew when you wear this, you know."

Ben chuckled. After staring down at the shiny plastic bags for a long moment, he shifted his gaze back to David. "Why do you need me to talk with Jacob?"

"Because he's going to have to order the evacuation of our people when Puccini desecrates our temple, and coordinate the move to Petra. He'll have to use the Israeli Defense Forces to do that. I tried to talk to him, but he…" He sighed. "He just wouldn't listen. Moreover, he threw me out."

Ben smiled wryly. "Jacob can be quite stubborn when he wants to be, as we both know. I can't promise I'll have any better success in persuading him." He pulled the gray wig out of one of the bags and fingered its hair strands. "However, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks." David patted his shoulder. "I must go now, so you can get ready. I'll be praying for you, Ben. When we leave for Petra, I want you to come, too—you'll be safer there than anywhere else. You won't need any disguises there."

"Don't worry. Unless God tells me to do otherwise, I'll go. And I'll stay there till it's safe to return." Ben smiled. "We'd better pray that God will clear out the clouds, too, so the rain won't come back." David groaned. He could only agree.

After David left, Ben put on the disguise. For a long moment, with his woolen prayer shawl draped around his shoulders, he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his face, praying that God would disguise him and give him favor with Jacob. He added a quick request that God would clear out the rain clouds and eliminate the threat of more rain.

He looked in the mirror. _David's right. I do look like an Orthodox Jew!_ After slipping his cell phone into his coat pocket, he slipped out the door and tiptoed down the stairs toward the parking basement.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Knesset. Light poured out of the windows from the second floor upward, softly illuminating the sidewalk below as well as his car. For a moment, he just sat there, paralyzed by fear. It lay in his gut like a heavy stone. Throughout the drive, he hadn't been able to stop worrying. What if someone managed to recognize him, despite his disguise? It would mean prison and death for him! 

**END OF CHAPTER 5 **

4


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

"Don't worry, Benjamin." A female voice spoke behind him; half-turning to see who it was, Ben saw Monica perched in the back seat. "God is with you, and He will protect you." She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Ben smiled. "Thank you, Monica. I'll remember that."

He climbed out of the car and shut the door with a soft thud. With even strides, he entered the Knesset building and took the elevator to Barak's floor. As David had, earlier, he found Gloria on the phone in the reception area.

Gloria smiled up at him; leaning back in her leather-upholstered armchair, she raised a hand in greeting. The angel winked; Ben suppressed a laugh.

"Excuse me, sir, but you have a visitor," the angel said into the phone. "No, it's not David—it's someone else…Well, he looks like an Orthodox Jew."

She nodded, then hung up. "Hello, Benjamin," she said, in a low voice. "Don't worry—I won't give you away. Just go on in—he's expecting you. He won't betray you either, once he knows who you are."

"Thank you," Ben whispered. He took a deep breath, then raised a trembling gloved hand to knock on the door.

"Come in!" a voice boomed from inside.

Ben pushed the door open and stepped into his cousin's office. Jacob, reclining behind his desk, stared at him, a puzzled expression etched on his face. He had removed his suit jacket and hung it on a coat rack in the corner.

Ben slowly approached him, stopping by the edge of the desk facing Jacob. "You don't recognize me, because I'm in disguise," he whispered. "I'm your cousin, Benjamin."

He removed the hat, the wig, then the beard. Jacob rose to his feet, gaping at the man, then circled the desk to approach him. "_Shalom,_ Ben! I haven't seen you in years and years." The two embraced for a long moment.

"It's been years since I've seen you!" he said in a low voice. His eyebrows furrowed. "I guess you know you're taking an awful chance by coming here."

"I know. I had to, though." Ben paused, biting his lower lip. "I guess you know I'm wanted for killing Puccini, Jacob. Or trying to, anyway, since he didn't stay dead." He slowly exhaled, staring down at the thick carpet at his feet.

"Yes, I do. What I don't know is why." Jacob folded his arms across his chest, leaning against his desk.

Ben's voice hardened. "He killed my wife—or rather, had her killed. I wanted revenge for her death." He pursed his lower lip. "She was the sweetest, most wonderful woman one could ever know—her only crime was that she turned to faith in Yeshua. Puccini didn't like that."

Jacob nodded, then sighed. "I don't approve of what you did, Ben, but I understand why you did it." He straightened his back and dropped his hands to his sides. "Puccini didn't stay dead, as you said, so you can't be charged with murder now, anyway—only with attempted murder. Rest assured I won't turn you in. In fact, as prime minister, I'm authorized to offer you amnesty."

Ben smiled, as gratitude flooded his heart. "Thank you, Jacob." He took a deep breath. "I've got some sad news I need to share with you. Are you aware that Deborah is also dead?"

Jacob froze. His mouth dropped open. "What?!"

Ben sighed. "She died in the earthquake, last week. David was crazy with worry for her; he tried and tried to find her, with no success. Finally, he found out where her body was. It was badly mangled; she had been crushed by the ceiling when it fell in."

Jacob winced. Clearly, he had not learned of her death. For a moment, he flattened the tufts of the carpet beneath the toe of his shoe. Ben gazed out the window at the thick blackness above the line of office buildings across the street.

As Jacob stood trembling, taking deep breaths, making an evident effort to come to terms with the loss, sadness welled up in Ben's eyes. "It grieves me to see the bitterness between you and David," he said, softly. "Especially now, when our nation is so near to entering some extremely dangerous times. Had it not been for your quarrel, you would have known of Deborah's death when it occurred." His voice choked. "There's going to be many more deaths in the near future if we don't act quickly. There are events coming that are going to demand quick emergency action if our people is to survive. Some urgent decisions will have to be made that only you are authorized to make, to save our people." He touched Jacob's shoulder. "Won't you two make it up with each other?"

Jacob suppressed the urge to shove Ben's arm off his shoulder. _It's not Ben's fault David and I have fought,_ he reminded himself. Out loud, he said, "No, I can't. Not now; not ever. As for the quick actions and the urgent decisions you speak of...I trust Antonio Puccini, Ben, and I don't believe for one minute that he would betray us, as David said."

Ben shook his head. "I do wish you wouldn't be so stubborn, Jacob," he said in a pleading voice. "Your pride and your stubbornness will cost the people of Jerusalem their lives. Deborah's already dead—I don't want others meeting the same fate. Not if it can be avoided. You need to work with David, not fight him."

Jacob sighed. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to discuss this any further. I do grieve Deborah's death, though. I loved her, too." He glanced at his watch. "Would you excuse me, Ben? I—I want to be alone now."

Biting his lower lip, Ben nodded. "Certainly."

He put the beard, the wig, and the hat back on. He turned toward the door, then paused. "I'll be praying for you, Ben. For you and David."

Jacob smiled wanly, in spite of himself. "Thank you. Listen, you're welcome to come with me on tomorrow's flight if you want; I could use some company. You'll be safe if you wear your disguise and stay on the plane. We'll be leaving at 8 a.m."

Ben nodded. "I'll think about it. Thank you for the offer. _Shalom,_ Jacob."

He left. Jacob shut the door behind him, then slowly approached the window. For a long moment, he gazed at the city lights on the horizon. The thick darkness still blanketed the sky over the row of office buildings. "The rain could start again any time now," he muttered.

A knock on the door startled him. "Come in!" he called, whirling around.

The door swung open; a black woman, wearing a thick navy-blue coat over a chef's uniform, pushed a table on wheels into the room. "Prime Minister Barak," she said, "my name is Tess. I'm temporarily cooking for the Israeli Defense Forces while their regular cook recovers from a bout with the flu. It's come to my attention that you haven't had much to eat today, so I thought I'd bring you something, now that supper's been served at the base."

Barak smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Tess. You're right, I've eaten little today, and now I've got a gnawing stomach." He rubbed his belly. "But how did you come here?"

Tess dropped her hands to her sides. "Two soldiers brought me here, and are waiting downstairs to take me back. One of them is a new recruit, just out of basic training, who's made friends with your cousin David."

"Oh? And who is that?" Jacob raised his eyebrows.

"His name is Miki." She smiled. "I must go now. _Bon appetite_."

With a smile, Tess backed out the door and clicked it shut. Outside the door, she paused to confer with the other angels. "Plan C comes next," she told Monica and Andrew. "Be ready to speak when the Father orders, Andrew." The angel of death acquiesced.

Meanwhile, as the scents of the food wafted toward his nose, Jacob found his appetite. He set the metal tray on the small round table near the corner and took his seat there, facing the wall.

For the next several minutes, Barak ate his dinner. As he finished the dessert, a male voice spoke behind him.

"Hello, Jacob Barak." 

**END OF CHAPTER 6**

3


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Whirling around, Barak saw a sandy brown-haired man standing on the other side of the desk. An unearthly glow poured off him. With a trembling hand, Jacob set his coffee cup in its saucer; it landed with a clink. Rising to his feet, he pointed his finger, gaping. "What—who—?"

"I am an angel. My name is Andrew. Sent by God." The angel stepped toward him.

Hastily, Jacob wiped his chin with his napkin, then whirled to face the angel. He stood rooted to the spot. He couldn't believe his ears—or his eyes! An angel was in the office with him? It couldn't be!

"Sent by Jehovah?" he finally whispered.

"Yes. Sent by the great I Am, Himself," Andrew said. "God has sent me with a message for you."

Jacob nodded. "What kind of message?"

Andrew took another step toward Jacob. He inserted his hands into his pants pockets. "Jacob, God wants you to forgive David, and to ask his forgiveness. David and Ben are right—extremely dangerous times _are_ coming for your nation, and you need to be united in love, not divided by hatred. You're hurting yourself by harboring your grudge against him. And you're being hindered from taking the necessary actions to save the lives of your people."

Barak didn't want to listen to Andrew; he wanted to shut his ears and shout at the angel to get out. But he knew he couldn't. If this angel really was from Jehovah, then he had no choice but to listen.

"I can't," he admitted, his voice hard. "I—I _hate_ David! I've hated him ever since we had that terrible fight years ago."

"I know, Jacob. And God knows." Andrew touched Jacob's shoulder. "He will heal you of your hatred if you will ask Him. Just ask God do so."

For a long moment, Barak just stared at the carpeted floor. He twisted his toe around, flattening carpet tufts underneath. For a moment, he thought of asking what Andrew meant about taking necessary actions, then decided against it. He didn't want to believe that any action would be necessary; surely Puccini would live up to the treaty they had signed! He just had to.

Finally, without responding or saying good-bye, Jacob marched out of the room. He was in no hurry to act on Andrew's urging; he didn't even want to think about it at that moment. Andrew sighed. "Plan D, Father?" he prayed. He gazed at the ceiling, then nodded.

A few hours later, back at the hotel, Ben kneeled at the side of his bed, praying. It was past ten o' clock. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes, his prayer shawl draped around his shoulders. "God," he prayed, "I ask you to open my cousins' hearts. Both of them. Please make Jacob aware of the seriousness of the situation." He paused, rubbing his fingers against the silky-soft bedspread. "And please clear the rain clouds out of the sky. Please don't let it rain anymore until we've reached safety."

"He will, Benjamin."

Ben rose to his feet and turned around. Andrew and Monica stood near the door, glowing. Monica repeated what she had just said. "He will, Ben. He will make things right between your cousins, and He will send you the weather conditions you need in order to flee. But He wants to use you some more."

Ben frowned. "In what way, Monica?"

Andrew spoke up. "He wants you to accept Jacob's invitation to go to Rome with him. Richard and Ryan will be the pilots, and I will go along as well. Also, another will be accompanying us, to serve as a bodyguard for Jacob."

"Who?" Ben looked straight into Andrew's eyes.

"You will find out tomorrow." Andrew smiled. "God wants you to spy on Puccini. The only way Jacob will listen is if you can present him with proof that Antonio is indeed going to break the treaty and desecrate your temple." He raised his arm above his head to lean it against the doorway. "It's a dangerous job He's giving you, Ben, so He's sending another angel and myself as backup."

Ben snorted. "You're certainly right it's dangerous! If I'm discovered there—in the city where I tried to kill Puccini—I'm history."

Andrew dropped his hands to his sides and straightened his back. "That's why He's sending two angels to protect you." The angel of death laid his hand on Ben's shoulder, a smile crossing his face. "I'm not ready to take you Home just yet, and God isn't sending me to. He wants you to live so you can report what you learn to Jacob."

Ben sighed. "Very well. I'll do it."

"Good." Monica smiled. "God is watching over you; don't forget that. Wear your new disguise, so you won't be recognized. You won't need your winter coat in Rome—it's warmer there than it is here—but you will need it when you go to the airport." The two angels vanished.

The next morning, as Ben, bundled up and wearing his Orthodox Jew disguise, boarded the plane, Richard greeted him. He had on his immaculate white pilot's uniform and his dark jacket. "I see you decided to come."

"Yes." Ben smiled. In a low voice, he added, "God is sending me on a dangerous mission in Rome. He sent Andrew and Monica to tell me, last night."

Richard bit his lower lip, then glanced out the window at the still-golden sun rising above the buildings. "You'd better do it, then. Ryan and I are going to stay on the plane until our return to Israel, so we can avoid detection. Rest assured that we'll be praying for you."

"Thank you." Ben smiled gratefully. Just then, Miki stepped into the cabin, wearing his khaki outfit.

A surprised expression etched Richard's face. "Miki! What are you doing here?"

Miki chuckled. "Believe it or not, I've been assigned as Barak's bodyguard. It seems that the prime minister asked my commanding officer to recommend someone, and he recommended me. So here I am." He folded his arms across his chest as he spoke.

Richard turned to Ben. "Uh, this is Miki—he's a new recruit for the Israeli Defense Forces. A recruit with impressive credentials and abilities, it appears, judging from the use his captain is putting him to," he added, chuckling. Miki nodded, an amused smile on his face. Grinning, Richard added, "I should add that he knows his way around Jerusalem well. If any of you should ever get lost, just ask for Miki. He'll help you!" The others laughed. Miki made a face, then laughed as well.

Ben nodded toward Richard. "If you gentlemen'll excuse me, I've got some praying to do."

"Of course." Richard returned to the cockpit. Miki left the cabin to go to the one Barak was staying in. Ben slumped into the nearest chair and closed his eyes.

_Andrew, where are you?_ he wondered silently. _I haven't seen you since last night._ He adjusted his hat.

He scanned the cabin and shrugged. He could only trust that God would send Andrew back when he was needed. Apparently, the angel wouldn't be needed on the plane.

The flight to Rome went smoothly. As the plane flew into Europe, the clouds broke up and disappeared from view. Brilliant sunlight flooded the plane. Ben removed his coat and gloves while the plane was en route. When it landed, he knelt on the carpeted floor to pray next to his seat.

_God,_ he prayed, _let me know when you want me to carry out my mission. And as You promised me through Andrew, please send him to keep me from being detected by Puccini or anyone else. Give me a way to accomplish this spy mission._ He paused. _And please don't let the abomination happen on Saturday, or we will only be able to take a short Sabbath-day journey. Please remove the threat of rain and grant us sunny weather on that day._

He felt a check in his spirit when he pondered whether to leave for his spy mission immediately. _He wants me to wait, I guess._

A minute later, Barak left for his meeting, accompanied by Miki. Two hours passed while Ben sat hunched in a soft, cushioned armchair, head bowed, praying constantly. When Jacob finally returned, he nodded toward his cousin. Ben raised his hand in greeting.

At that moment, he felt an inner prompting. _It's time!_

Biting his lower lip, he rose to his feet and made sure the wig and beard were securely in place. He set the hat back on his head. _I can only hope that my Orthodox Jew appearance will not attract unwanted attention! I want to blend in, not stand out. I wish I'd brought my other disguise!_ He sighed. _Oh, well. I can only entrust myself to God's protection anyway. At least, I won't need my coat here._

He left the plane and entered the terminal. A few minutes later, he arrived at the parking lot; he felt his heart palpitate. He took a deep breath to calm himself. _I can only trust God now._

Ben exhaled deeply and squeezed his eyes shut. The nervousness he had felt, entering the Knesset where Barak worked, was nothing compared to the fear welling in his gut now. He was walking into the den of lions, he knew; if they caught him, he was as good as dead.

_Please, God,_ he silently prayed, _make a way for me and protect me! Please send the angels._

**END OF CHAPTER 7 **

3


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

A taxi pulled to a stop in front of him. A passenger stepped out, wearing a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. _Andrew!_ Ben thought, slowly exhaling and relaxing his stance.

"I believe you need a ride," Andrew said, with a chuckle. Nodding agreement, Ben climbed into the back seat. He leaned against the upholstered seat. Andrew climbed in next to him and put on his seat belt; Ben did the same.

The taxi driver half-turned to face his two passengers. "Where to?"

"The government building, Sam," Andrew told him. Nodding, the chocolate-skinned Special Forces angel drove out of the parking lot onto the street. "You remember Sam," he said.

Ben grinned. "I sure do! He acted as taxi driver after I tried to assassinate Puccini. It seems I'm being surrounded by angels at present." Sam laughed.

Andrew chuckled in his turn, then gazed at Ben, an amused smile on his face. "Ben," he said, gently, "God sent an angel to shut the lions' mouths when King Darius had Daniel thrown into their den. He will not fail to protect you now." He pulled a gleaming pocket watch out of his jeans pocket as he spoke.

Ben nodded. "No. I know you're right. But—well, it's all too easy to forget."

"I know." Andrew patted his arm. "But God promised you His protection, and He never fails to keep His promises. Sam and I will keep you hidden from any eyes that might otherwise recognize you or be drawn to your Orthodox Jew garb while you're there." He glanced down at his watch, then inserted it into his jeans pocket. "Don't waste any time once we get there, because you'll need every moment."

"That's right," Sam told him. "Every minute counts now." Ben acquiesced. He leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the engine humming.

A few minutes later, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the government building. As Ben stepped onto the curb, sneakers softly thudding beneath him, a supernatural peace welled up in his heart. He didn't know what would happen, but he felt the calm assurance that God was with him, guarding him.

Ben entered the elegant lobby; to his relief, no one paid him any attention. His sneakers made almost no sound on the thick carpet. He entered a curved hall, where doors lined both sides. An elevator stood at the end of that hall. As he waited for it to come to the first floor, he silently prayed that God would lead him to the right floor and the correct door.

The elevator came; to his relief, he found Andrew waiting for him inside. As soon as the elevator door slid shut, Andrew said, "You couldn't see us, Ben, but God sent Sam and me in with you, to shield you from the sight of the people in the lobby. Just trust Him to protect you—He will." He inserted his hands into his pockets.

"I will," Ben promised.

Andrew glanced down at Ben's own bulging pants pocket. "Is your cell phone switched off?"

Ben yanked it out of his pocket. "No, it's not! Glad you asked." Chuckling ruefully, he pressed the button on top with his thumb, to turn it off, then shoved the cell phone back into his pocket. The two stopped speaking; Ben listened to the elevator's soft hum.

It stopped on the 10th floor, and the door slid open. "Puccini's suite is in room 1003," Andrew told him, as they stepped out into the carpeted hall. "Just stand outside his door and listen. Here-you'll need this." He handed Ben a pcoket-sized cassette recorder, with a cassette already loaded.

Nodding acquiescence, Ben pushed the "record" and then tiptoed toward the door. He leaned against it, holding his breath and holding the cassette recorder against the door.

"Oh, yes." He heard Puccini chuckle on the other side. "I have protected and shielded Israel long enough. I didn't tell Jacob Barak during our meeting, but I am finished with giving that nation special privileges. Now it is time the Jews paid the piper. If Israel wants me to continue to protect it, it will have to worship me."

"Israel and the rest of the world." Elijah Dayan's voice. "Rest assured, Your Worship, it will be my pleasure to promote that."

"I know it will." Antonio's voice sounded pleased. Ben heard a drawer click shut. "Very soon, I want you to announce on television the new economic plan the world is supposed to follow. But first—tomorrow—I have to make a little trip to Israel."

"And what are you going to do there?"

A pause. "I am going to force the Israeli priests to end their sacrifices. To worship my statue, which I shall order set up there, and to worship me. At the same time, Elijah, I want you to set up another statue in Jerusalem itself, so you're going to have to come with me."

"Consider it done, excellency."

Another pause. Puccini's voice hardened. "I am fully prepared to execute—without trial—all Jews and everyone else who refuse to comply with my new orders. The decision as to whether or not to worship me will not be an option—all Jews and all people over the world will be required to do so. Those who refuse not be allowed to buy or sell or hold jobs. In fact, they will die."

"And how will they die?"

Yet another pause. "By guillotine."

Ben had heard enough. He knew all he had needed to find out. Now it only remained to get out of the building and share the bad news with Jacob. He pushed the "stop" button on the cassette recorder.

To his horror, the door swung open. Ben slid behind it, silently praying, _Please, God, blind their eyes!_

**END OF CHAPTER 8 **

2


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Puccini stepped out of the door, followed by Dayan. Without looking behind him, Dayan slammed the door shut by swinging his arm behind his back. Facing ahead, the two strode down the hall, shoes softly thudding on the thick carpet; within seconds, they disappeared around the corner. Ben sagged his shoulders, sighing in relief. _Thank You, God!_

"Come on, Ben!" Andrew appeared next to him. "Come with me, and I will get you out of here. Sam is waiting for us on the curb."

Ben slipped the cassette recorder into his pants pocket, and then he and Andrew took the elevator down to the first floor and left the building; a cool breeze caressed Ben's face as he stepped onto the sidewalk. Again, no one paid any attention to them. They re-entered the taxi and returned to the airport. Back on the plane, Ben asked to see Jacob.

"I've got important news for him," he told Miki. Richard and Ryan leaned against the wall, listening, arms folded, eyebrows furrowed.

The recruit-turned-bodyguard nodded. "He's in the rear cabin, going over the notes that were taken during the meeting, and conferring with his two regular pilots. After he left Puccini, he managed to track them down and bring them to the plane, to return to Israel." He pivoted. "I'll tell him." Miki exited the front cabin, his footfalls gradually fading as he marched down the hall.

"What did you find out?" Ryan asked Ben. He rubbed his hands on his pants as he spoke.

"I'll tell you when Jacob comes up here." Ben brushed his hair out of his eyes. Someone, he noticed, had drawn the curtains over the windows; the cabin looked dark. He could only be glad; at least, with the windows covered, there was no danger of anyone looking through the window and recognizing Ben.

As he waited for Jacob, Ben shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced down at the cassette recorder cradled between his fingers. He couldn't wait to share what he'd overheard with Barak. With this proof, Jacob would _have_ to act!

Footfalls heralded his cousin's approach; a moment later, Barak entered the front cabin, accompanied by Miki. The prime minister wore a gray polyester suit and a black tie over a crisp white shirt; his right hand grasped a half-empty wine glass. "Miki, here, tells me you want to see me," he told Ben.

Ben nodded. "It's a matter of life and death, Jacob."

Nodding, the prime minister turned to Miki. "Go back to the rear cabin and wait for me there with the pilots," he ordered. "If I need you before I return, I'll send for you." Acquiescing, Miki left. Silence descended over the cabin.

Jacob set the wine glass on the table, then turned back to Ben. "What is it, Ben?"

Ben glanced at the curtains for a moment; taking a deep breath, he turned to face Jacob. "After you returned from the meeting, I went to the government building," he said. "God protected me so that no one recognized me. I overheard Puccini and Dayan speak in Puccini's office. I stood outside their door, listening in. In fact, I tape-recorded their conversation." He drew the cassette recorder out of his pants pocket and held it up for Jacob.

Jacob folded his arms across his chest, furrowing his eyebrows. "And what did they say?"

Ben bit his lower lip, then glanced at Richard, then Ryan. "Puccini is going to betray us," he said. "Tomorrow, he's going to Israel to stop the sacrifices in the temple. He's going to set up a statue there and force people to worship it, and him. And Dayan is going to set up another one in the city itself." He paused, exhaling slowly. "He means to force our people to worship him as God, upon pain of death. Hence the statues." His voice rose. "And you know our people will never agree to that. He means to withdraw his protection of our nation and _kill_ us, Jacob! All of us! Listen to this, Jacob."

Ben pushed the "rewind" button on the cassette recorder. When the cassette had finished rewinding, he pressed the "play" button with his thumb. He and Jacob listened to the conversation between Puccini and Dayan.

When Ben shut the cassette recorder off, Jacob's mouth dropped open. For a long moment, he gaped at his cousin. At last, he asked, "H—how did you ever manage to get inside the government building—_and_ get so close to Puccini and Dayan—without getting caught?!"

"I told you. God protected me. He sent angels."

"That's right." Andrew appeared next to Ben; Sam appeared behind him. At that moment, Tess and Monica stepped into the cabin. Jacob stared at the four angels.

"Tess—Andrew—it's you!" Jacob gasped, looking from one to another. "What are you doing here?" He gaped at Monica. "And who are you?"

"Don't be afraid, Jacob. My name is Monica, and this is Andrew," the Irish-tongued angel told him gently. "We are angels. Sent by God. Your receptionist, Gloria, is an angel, too."

Tess nodded agreement. "You should remember Monica; she helped your family escape from Yugoslavia."

Jacob's mouth dropped open as he stared at the Irish-tongued angel. "That bright light was _you_? You got us safely past that guarded fence? The angel who stepped out of that light—it _was_ you!"

"Yes, Jacob." Monica smiled at him. "I was in Search and Rescue then, and God sent me to get you and your loved ones to safety."

Footfalls caught their attention; a minute later, Miki re-entered the cabin. Jacob glared at him. "I told you to stay in the rear cabin unless I sent for you! What are you doing here?"

"I'm under orders, Barak." The recruit approached Jacob, revolver dangling from its holster. His shoes thudded softly on the carpet. "Orders from a higher authority than yours."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "_Puccini's_ orders?" He pressed his lips into a tight line. "Don't tell me you're a spy for Puccini!"

Miki chuckled. "Of course not."

"Miki takes his orders from a far higher authority than you or even Antonio Puccini, Jacob," Andrew told him. "He takes his orders directly from God. You see, Miki is an angel, too."

Jacob's legs buckled; he fell limply into the nearest leather-upholstered armchair, gaping up at Miki. The mattress sagged underneath him as he tried vainly to straighten his posture. "You mean—we're surrounded by angels?" He fixed his gaze on Miki. "Why are you here?" he asked the angel.

Folding her arms across her chest, Tess answered for him. "Miki's job is to protect your people, Jacob. You see, extremely dangerous times loom ahead for your people and your nation. God helped you and your cousins escape Communism when you were children, so that you and David could have a role in saving your people now. And God has sent His warrior archangel to defend Israel from the enemies that seek to destroy it."

An unearthly light poured over Miki, as his clothes suddenly changed from a soldier's khaki uniform to a snow-white robe. The gun and its holster disappeared from his side. Jacob pointed at him with a trembling finger. "Mi—_Michael_?!"

"Yes." The archangel gazed down at him, love and compassion radiating from an otherwise warlike expression etched on his bronze-colored face. "I am Michael."

Jacob couldn't believe his ears—_or_ his eyes! How could this IDF recruit be the warrior archangel, Michael? It couldn't be!

"Jacob Barak, God has sent me to protect not only you personally, but your people as well, through the horrors to come. But first, He has a message for you." Michael put his hands on his hips and looked Jacob in the eye. "God wants you to know that He has a role for you in this situation, too. A role that will help save thousands of lives. But you must decide whether you will cooperate with God's plans or resist them."

Jacob covered his eyes with his hands, taking several deep breaths. When he dropped them into his lap, he sagged his shoulders and exhaled deeply. "What—what does Jehovah want me to do?" He straightened his posture as he spoke, this time successfully. He squared his shoulders and looked the archangel in the face.

Monica approached him; kneeling in front of him, she laid a hand on his knee. Her knees made soft indentations in the carpet tufts. "For starters, Jacob, God wants you to give your life over to your Messiah. To the Son of God, Jesus Christ. To Yeshua." She paused. "He is coming in just three-and-a-half years to keep the promises He made to your people during the times of the Old Testament, and He wants you to be ready. Just give Him your heart—your life."

Jacob nodded. Silently, he laid his face in his hands and prayed, _Please, Yeshua, forgive me! Come into my heart and make me ready for Your Kingdom. Make me fit for whatever you want me to do, before then. Amen._

He raised his head, smiling, his eyes wet. The angels beamed; Richard and Ryan did the same. Andrew slapped his shoulder. "The angels in Heaven are rejoicing over your decision, Jacob, and so are the angels here on earth!"

Tess nodded agreement. "And now that you have turned your life over to God, He has a job for you. The Father wants you to get the IDF army ready to evacuate your people, and to take them to Petra. They will have to stay there until Jesus returns." She paused. "You have only a day to do it, now, so don't waste any time. Things will come to a head tomorrow." She wagged her finger for emphasis. "When the abomination of desolation takes place, the people will have to leave immediately. There won't even be time to pack their things. Or to go back into their homes in the event they forget anything."

Jacob acquiesced. "All right," he finally said. "I'll do it." He frowned. "But if there's going to be no time to pack, how can I issue an advance warning to the people without tipping off Puccini?"

Andrew smiled. "God is going to send angels all through the city, to warn them to get ready for the evacuation. Not all of the people will cooperate; some will insist on staying in Jerusalem, but much of the population will agree to leave. In the meantime, your job is to prepare the Israeli Defense Forces for their assignment. Since there's only a very little time left to do it now, Gloria is going to help you. She is very efficient. So are the Special Forces angels God is sending to assist in the preparations. All arrangements must be finished before Puccini arrives in Jerusalem, so you have only a small window of time to complete them."

Richard nodded agreement. "We certainly do. And I can vouch for what Andrew says about Gloria, Excellency. She certainly is efficient." He paused. "Gloria helped us find our daughter Rachel after the earthquake—after all our own efforts to find her had failed. She also helped us find Deborah Weizmann's body. Rachel and Deborah were trapped in the same building by the earthquake." Sadness welled in his eyes. "Deborah died not long after it happened." Rubbing his hair from front to back, he smiled at Monica. "I might add that Monica has helped us repeatedly, too."

"I know. Monica is an angel of truth. It is her specialty," Michael said. "She is also an angel of genuine compassion. No one has a heart like hers." Monica smiled her appreciation of his praise.

Richard nodded agreement. He glanced at the slivers of sunlight creeping around the edges of the curtains, then pivoted to face the others. Biting his lower lip, he gazed at Michael. "Uh, Michael, forgive me, but may I ask a personal question?"

The archangel nodded. "Certainly."

Richard took a deep breath. "As commanding officer—as general—of the warrior angels, it must have been a great comedown to have to take orders from a human sergeant. Or, for that matter, from a human commissioned officer. How have you dealt with it?"

Michael chuckled. "Yes, it _was_ a comedown, Richard—I will not pretend otherwise. It was indeed hard to have to take orders from humans, even though it was only for a time. My only recourse in dealing with it was to remember that God always has a good reason for whatever He tells us to do, and to pray for His strength." He glanced at Barak, who smiled and shook his head. "All I can say is that sometimes, even we angels have some lessons to learn—some of which are hard. Sometimes, we have to accept a humbling assignment to learn those lessons. Monica, here, can attest to that."

Monica nodded agreement. "Yes, I can," she said. "I've been through some very difficult and humbling assignments since God promoted me from Search and Rescue to casework. Once, early in my work as a caseworker, I had to live as a homeless angel on the street. On another occasion, I went blind. And on yet another occasion, God made me black. Those are just examples."

The Irish-tongued angel smiled ruefully. "God only sends an angel on such an assignment when He has a lesson for that angel to learn. Having been the general of the Lord's Heavenly army since Satan's fall, 6,000 years ago, Michael needed to learn what it was like to be on the receiving end of military orders. So God sent him on assignment as an IDF recruit several weeks ago. He had to go through basic training like any recruit, and it was very hard even for him." Michael inclined his head in acknowledgement.

She paused. "Until this assignment, he only had to receive orders from God; he _gave_ orders to all the warrior angels under him. And he is so strong, as an angel, that he can single-handedly defeat powerful demons, just as he did the prince of Persia during Daniel's time. Just recently—while Puccini lay dead after his assassination—God called him back up to Heaven so that, with the help of his warrior angels, Michael cast Satan and his demons out of Heaven forever. For the last several weeks, though, he has had to obey orders given by humans as well, and accept a temporary reduction in his physical strength and endurance."

"Yes. And as soon as the war in Heaven was finished, I had to return to my assignment down here." Michael shifted his gaze from Monica to Jacob; leaning sideways, he rested his fingertips on the table's smooth mahogany surface. "During this assignment—except when God recalled me to His side, to fight Satan and his hordes in the recent battle—He wanted me to rely less on my strength and more on reaching humans with the truth. As He ordered me to do for you, Jacob." Straightening his back, he folded his arms across his chest. "However, that phase of my assignment is over now. My next phase starts tomorrow, when the abomination of desolation will occur. God will send me to conduct it when the time is right."

"Thank the Lord tomorrow's not Saturday." Jacob sighed. He froze. "But what about the weather? I can get some of the people out of the city on planes, but the rest will have to travel by car. If the heavy rain comes back and floods the rivers crossing the roads leading toe Jordan—!"

"Don't worry." Monica laid a hand on his arm. "God will not let it rain again before then. He will send you dry conditions when the time is right. In the meantime, keep praying." Jacob nodded.

The archangel vanished. Barak bit his lower lip and shook his head. _What now? What happens next? What are we supposed to do next?_

**END OF CHAPTER 9 **

5


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

"One more thing, Jacob." Monica touched Barak's shoulder. "God wants you to let go of the hatred you bear toward David. He loves you, and He loves David; it grieves Him deeply to see you two so antagonistic toward each other. And it grieves us." She paused. "In the dark times that are approaching, you will need one another's love as you've never needed it before. Won't you reconcile with your cousin?"

Barak sighed. As Richard had done, earlier, he gazed at the slivers of sunlight creeping around the curtain edges. "I know you're right," he said. "I'll think about it. At the moment, Monica, that's all I can promise." He glanced at his watch. "And now, it's time we returned to Israel. If Michael is not going to be my bodyguard, who will?"

"The glory of the Lord will be your rear guard on the trip back, Jacob. You do not need a human bodyguard at this time. You and Ben and your four pilots will reach Jerusalem safely." Andrew vanished, along with the other angels.

As Andrew had predicted, the return trip to Israel went smoothly. On the way back, the plane flew back into the thick gray clouds still covering Israel and the surrounding Middle East. A team of bodyguards met Jacob as he left the plane, once it landed at the airport late that afternoon. Once more, Jacob had bundled up in his winter coat. Jacob's regular pilots accompanied him. "Stay with us on the plane till Ryan and I leave," Richard told Ben. "Then come with us."

Back at the Knesset, Barak removed his coat, changed into a dark-brown suit, then met with Gloria. "I want you to get General Meir on the phone," he ordered, then cleared his throat. "I have an important assignment to give him."

"Yes, sir." Gloria picked up the phone and dialed the general's number.

In his office, Barak spoke with the general. "I want you to prepare for an emergency evacuation," he ordered. "Tomorrow, we must be prepared to evacuate the Jerusalem public from their homes and businesses, and to get as many of them as possible to Petra. In Jordan." He paused. "For an indefinite period."

"Yes, sir." General Meir paused. "Might I inquire as to the reason for this sudden evacuation?"

Barak bit his lower lip. He gazed at the oil painting on the wall across the room, while drumming his fingertips on the desk's smooth, polished surface. The warm air from the heater felt good on his skin. "I can't go into details now, but I have just been informed that our people are in mortal danger. They will lose their lives if they stay in Israel. They must be prepared to leave on the spot, as soon as orders are given. We must make the preparations immediately."

"Yes, sir." The general hung up.

Barak rested his face in his hands, then rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. At least, with Gloria's help and the aid of his IDF generals, there was no danger of the evacuation breaking down. The question was, how many of the city residents would agree to leave? And what would the weather conditions be, the next day?

_Jehovah, give us warm, sunny weather tomorrow. Don't let it rain,_ he silently prayed. _Well, at least tomorrow's not the Sabbath, so that's one prayer answered!_

A knock on the door startled him. "Yes?" He raised his head.

The door swung open, and Gloria framed the doorway. "Excuse me, Mr. Barak, but your cousin David is on the phone." She paused, an apprehensive expression etching her face, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Forgive me, sir, but I don't have the heart to hang up on him."

With a heavy sigh, Barak rose to his feet, shaking his head. "I'll talk to him. Transfer him to my line." He picked up the receiver as Gloria clicked the door shut.

A moment later, David's voice reached his ear. "Hello, Jacob." A pause. "Ben tells me he's met with you."

Jacob took a deep breath. "Yes, he has. It kills me to admit it, David, but you were right about the danger we're in. I'm ordering an emergency evacuation to commence tomorrow." He rubbed the surface of the desk with his index finger as he spoke. It felt smooth and cool to his fingertip.

"I'm glad. You're doing the right thing." David paused. "Before we leave for Petra, I would like to meet with you. To be brought up to date on what's happening."

Barak stiffened. Even though he had reluctantly agreed to consider reconciling with David, he was in no hurry to do so yet. The job that currently faced him provided the perfect excuse to put off a face-to-face meeting with his estranged cousin. He glanced out the window at the sunlight pouring in through the open Venetian blinds.

"Not now," he said. "I can't meet with you now, or tomorrow either. There won't be time—I'm going to be too busy. As you know, I've got important orders to issue to the Israeli Defense Forces. I've already given General Meir his orders, but I've got more to issue before it's over. And emergency preparations to make."

Another pause. David exhaled. "Yes, I suppose you do. Perhaps we can meet in Petra, then." The line clicked, followed by a dial tone.

With a sigh, Jacob hung up. He bowed his head. _God, don't let word of this get back to Puccini!_ he silently prayed. He rose to his feet and approached his closet, to remove his prayer shawl and drape it around his shoulders. If he was going to coordinate this successfully, he needed to spend some time with Jehovah first.

Jacob worked through the night and into the next morning. He didn't even stop to order breakfast. Jacob held face-to-face meetings with General Meir and his other top IDF officers, swearing them to secrecy from Puccini and Dayan. After he had issued their orders, the generals assigned various troops and batallions to canvass different parts of the city when the time came, evacuating the residents. Each batallion would divide into smaller groups; each group would go up and down a different street.

Meanwhile, Barak made arrangements with the airport to borrow its planes to transport some of the people to Petra; all available pilots were ordered to fly them, including Richard and Ryan. He also arranged with the city officials to borrow the use of their trucks, buses, and cabs; the generals assigned some of the soldiers to drive them the next day. They purchased food, toiletry, and other supplies to be shipped immediately to Petra. Three helicopters took off during the night for Jordan, to deposit the supplies in the rock city. All the while, Special Forces angels, including Sam, either substituted for the people in question or persuaded them to work with Barak without resisting or asking why.

With Gloria's help, and with the aid of the Special Forces angels dispatched to speed up the process, the necessary preparations went through with no difficulty. No unexpected glitches held up the process. No dreaded phone calls or visits from Puccini or his officials came his way. And to Barak's relief, morning dawned warm and sunny. The rain clouds had finally cleared out.

_Well, at least it's not the Sabbath,_ he thought. _We couldn't travel far if it were._ He paused. _And the heater is too hot now! That means the temperature has risen. And the light outside the curtains looks lighter than it has over the past several days. Could it be...?_

He beamed, then reached over to turn the heater off. He approached the window and parted the curtains. _Yes! It is! God has heard our prayers for ideal travel conditions. There will be no floods to hinder the evacuation._ He opened the window to let the cool breeze in.

Meanwhile, Richard had driven back to the hotel to meet with his family. Earlier, he had donned a short-sleeved cotton shirt and had left the hotel without his coat. "Have you packed what you're going to take?" he asked his wife and adopted daughter, without preamble, as soon as he clicked the door shut.

Patting her hair, Christina nodded. "I have." She glanced at a bulging navy-blue denim backpack lying askew on the dresser.

"Good." Folding his arms across his chest, Richard turned to Rachel. "What about you?"

Rachel bit her lower lip, then glanced at her own glossy pink backpack on the bed. "Well, I've filled my backpack with stuff. And my clothes are in my suitcase. But there's some things I want to take that won't fit." She gazed pleadingly at her father, as she twisted her necklace around her fingers. "Couldn't I carry them separately?"

Richard laid a hand on her shoulder. "No, honey. You and your mother can take your purses and backpacks and suitcases, but nothing else. We've got to be prepared to travel quickly when the order comes—we can't afford to take anything that's going to slow us down. Keep your backpack, your suitcase, and your purse close to you until it's time to go, so you won't have to leave them behind—once the time comes, you'll have to leave in a hurry. I want you and your mother to stay here in our room until I tell you it's time to leave. I've already taken my luggage with me to the airport, so at least, I won't have to pack anything now."

Christina nodded agreement. "And there won't be time to come back for anything if you discover you've forgetten something after we've left our room," she told her daughter. "We're going to be a a great hurry to get out of Jerusalem."

"Yes." Richard ruffled Rachel's hair. "You've packed your Bible, haven't you, hon?" Rachel nodded. "Good girl." He patted her shoulder. He then crossed the room to draw the curtains shut and close the blinds. "I'll feel safer if no one can see in here," he told his wife. "We'll be leaving today, so you won't be in the dark for long. At least the clouds have finally cleared out, so it's not going to rain again at this time, and the weather has turned warm." He sighed. "And thank the Lord, too, that this hotel survived that awful earthquake! Not to mention our daughter." His eyes shone as he gazed at Rachel.

"Yes! Thank the Lord." Christina nodded, beaming and hugging Rachel to her side. "I just wish Deborah could have." Her eyes dimmed, then she took a deep breath. "Where will you be, Richard?"

"Barak has asked me to fly one of the planes the IDF is going to use in the evacuation. Ryan is going to fly another. I've got to get to the airport now, to help get the plane ready."

Richard changed into his pilot uniform. After carefully combing his hair, he picked up his cell phone and shoved it into his pants pocket. "I'll call you when it's time to leave. As I said, stay right here, you two—near the phone—so you can pick it up immediately."

"All right." Christina kissed him, then he left. 

**END OF CHAPTER 10 **

3


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Half an hour later, at the Knesset, Barak turned his TV set on, then sat down on the leather-bound sofa to watch the developments. The curtains swayed in the breeze. The preparations had finally been completed; all that remained, now, was to await developments. He glanced at the wall clock; it was 11 o' clock.

Already, a special news broadcast was being conducted at the temple. The camera, he noticed, faced the altar in the courtyard where a priest was getting ready to prepare a lamb for sacrifice. The priest glanced at the camera with a quizzical expression on his face. Behind him, several other priests reacted in the same way.

_Oh, no,_ Jacob groaned inwardly, _I do believe it's coming!_ He raised his head to gaze at the ceiling. _God, help my people!_

He picked up the phone. "Gloria, get General Meir on the line."

"Yes, sir."

A minute later, the general came on the line. "You got everything ready?" Barak asked.

"Yes, sir. Everything is ready. We only await your orders."

"Good. Stay on the line, and turn on your TV set if you haven't already done so. The desecration is about to start."

"Yes, excellency."

"I'm laying the phone down for now." Barak set the receiver on the desk, then returned to the sofa. Leaning forward, he folded his hands in his lap.

A moment later, Antonio Puccini entered the temple courtyard, accompanied by a retinue of delegates and framed by security guards. Barak watched, grim-faced, clenching and unclenching his hands, as Puccini turned to face the camera, a satisfied smirk on his face. To the side, the priests stood stock-still, horror etching their faces. The sun poured into the courtyard, bathing the altar in a golden glow. The gems on the priest's breastplate glistened in the sunlight.

"As should be apparent to everyone by now," Puccini announced, "_I_ am God, and I hereby order all Jews—and all Gentiles—to worship _me_! Henceforth, there is to be no more animal sacrifices to be made to a mythical Jehovah. Instead, a statue shall immediately be set up right here."

He snapped his fingers, and a pair of security guards approached the priest tying the lamb as it squirmed and bleated in protest. The guards picked up the lamb, still squirming and bleating, and bore it out of the courtyard, then another pair of guards laid a wriggling, squealing piglet on the altar's brass surface. Puccini sliced its throat with a knife, then held it down until it died.

A noise off-camera caught Barak's attention (and that of the priests, he saw). Shortly, several heavily-muscled men carried a huge bronze statue of Puccini through the courtyard toward the Holy of Holies; when they entered it, they stood it up where the ark of the covenant would have rested, had it been found. Barak gripped the armrest of his sofa, rage surging in his heart. He had not wanted to believe that Antonio Puccini would be capable of such an atrocious act, but it was quite clear now that David and Ben were right about him. How could he have been so blind?! Suddenly, he saw Andrew standing several feet behind the priests, deep sadness in his kind, expressive eyes.

"Andrew!" he whispered. "What are you doing there?"

"You will worship Antonio Puccini!" a ghostly, yet mechanical voice boomed from the statue. "Worship him or die!"

"That is right!" Elijah Dayan appeared on the scene. Gazing at the camera, he wagged his finger. "I have given life to this statue, and you will all obey its orders or suffer the consequences. There is no choice—you will worship our living god Puccini, or you will face the guillotine!"

A bolt of lightning struck the Holy of Holies; every priest except one slumped to the floor, instantly incinerated. The surviving priest stalked toward Puccini, rage etched on his now beet-red face, his snow-white linen turban askew.

"How _dare_ you?!" he shouted. "You are _not_ God, and we Jews will _not_ worship you! You are a devil incarnate—out with you!" He pointed imperiously toward one of the off-camera entrances. "Take your statue and get out! Now!"

A second bolt of lightning struck the priest before he could rage further; the incinerated body collapsed on the floor. At the same time, Andrew vanished. Barak had seen and heard enough.

"I'd love to kill him," he muttered through gritted teeth. "But I can't. I have to get our own people to safety. Right now!" He frowned. "What was Andrew doing there?"

Before Barak could act, Puccini stalked out of the Holy of Holies and re-entered the courtyard; there, another angel appeared. Standing ramrod-straight, with his shoulders squared, he stared hard at Puccini. A Heavenly glow poured off his bronze skin, illuminating his snow-white robe.

"You will allow all Jews to flee Jerusalem and seek safety elsewhere." The angel's voice boomed throughout the spacious courtyard.

"Michael!" Jacob whispered. "Thank You, God!" He clasped his hands into a tight ball.

Antonio laughed. "Let them go free?" he hissed. "Never! I meant what I said—every Jew who will not worship me will die! Today!"

Michael said no more, but pointed a finger at Puccini. The Antichrist froze, as did the others. Motionless, all looked like living statues.

_He's put them all in a trance,_ Jacob thought. _It may not last long, so I've got to act quickly!_

Leaping to his feet, he rushed toward the desk and snatched the receiver. "Did you get all that?" he asked General Meir.

"I did." Barely-controlled rage hoarsened the general's voice.

"Good." Jacob nodded. "You have your orders—now carry them out! Those of us leaving by car will all meet in the valley outside Jerusalem, with our vehicles, to escort the refugees to Petra. Those leaving by plane will be taken to the airport. Send two of your officers to the control tower to make sure the flights are cleared for take-off. We can afford no last-minute delays." He paused. "Also, send one of your men to pick me up immediately. I will go to the valley."

"Done, sir." The phone line clicked, replaced by the dial tone. 

**END OF CHAPTER 11 **

2


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Barak switched the TV set off and hurried back to his closet; he grasped his suitcase, packed the night before and stored in the office closet for this moment. He rushed toward the elevator and rode down to the first floor. Outside, he found a jeep waiting.

He stared at the man in the driver's seat. "Who—?"

"I am an angel; my name is Sam. God has sent me to get you safely to your rendezvous. Get in, fast; there's no time to waste!"

Jacob did as he was told. Sam pressed the accelerator, and the jeep sped down the road.

"Tell me, do you know Andrew?" Barak asked the Special Forces angel. Sam nodded. "What was Andrew doing at the temple?" He leaned back against the soft, upholstered seat and allowed himself to feel the cool air emanating from the air conditioner. How good this felt, after all the frigid temperatures they had endured as of late! And how good to see the sun out, after days of cloudiness and the threat of heavy rain.

Sam did not take his eyes off the road. He turned onto a side street to avoid the earthquake rubble. "Andrew is an angel of death," he explained, at last. "His job is to take people Home when they die. Although you didn't see them, there were several other angels of death at the temple as well. Andrew also does casework on the side, working with Tess and Monica and Gloria." He paused. "He took Home the soul of your cousin Deborah when she died in the earthquake."

Barak nodded. He understood now.

While Sam escorted the prime minister to the valley, the IDF soldiers conducted a hasty roundup of people at their homes and businesses throughout the areas not demolished by the earthquake. "You must stop what you're doing and leave right now," they would order the people who came to their doors. "Antonio Puccini is going to kill everyone in Jerusalem who won't worship him. If you have anything on hand to take with you, get it now, because there is no time to pack."

Some of the people hid in the backs of their homes and refused to answer when the soldiers knocked on their doors; the soldiers left them behind. Of those who answered their doors, only a few people argued, and the soldiers managed to persuade them by pressing their guns against their chests. Those people accompanied the soldiers reluctantly. Most of the people who evacuated already had backpacks, suitcases, or satchels packed; they simply snatched them and left with the soldiers. Little did the IDF soldiers know that angels had already made advance visits to the people the IDF was now evacuating.

"How did you know we were coming?" one private asked an elderly man. "You must have been prepared, because you already had your things ready."

The man smiled, as he leaned on his cane and clutched his suitcase to his left side. He glanced at the blue, cloudless sky, and then back at the soldier. "An angel came here minutes ago, and warned me to get ready," he explained. "He said that God was going to take me to Petra, and to be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

Meanwhile, en route to the hotel to help evacuate his wife and daughter, Richard, for his part, silently prayed that God would get his family to Petra safely. He had already phoned them, warning them to be ready; Ryan had made a similar call to Kristen. Richard just had to make sure his family was safe. If anything happened to them, he didn't know what he would do!

Ryan, seated in the driver's seat, smiled at his brother-in-law. "Don't worry," he said. "God has sent his angels to help us, and I'm sure he'll get our families to Petra in one piece." He turned up the air conditioner so that its artificial breeze would cool them both.

Richard bit his lower lip. "That's what I'm counting on." He took a deep breath, then glanced down at his crisp pilot's uniform. Ryan had also donned his.

Ryan pulled up in front of the hotel; a couple of soldiers accosted him as he stepped out. "You must go to the airport or the valley, gentlemen," one of them said.

"We know. We've been assigned to fly two of the planes in the evacuation." Richard stepped onto the curb and looked up at the towering hotel building. "But first, we must get our families out! They're going with us. Our families are in this hotel, right now, waiting for us to pick them up."

"We'll come with you." The soldiers accompanied the two men into the lobby and up the elevator, shoes thudding on the carpet.

Ryan parted with Richard to rush toward his own hotel room, accompanied by one of the soldiers. Without knocking, Richard darted into the room his family occupied. He shouted for joy as he rushed toward his wife and daughter. "You're here! Thank goodness!"

Laughing, Christina hugged him. "Of course we are—you didn't think we were going to leave without you, did you? Especially after you called us."

"Of course." Richard didn't smile, but glanced back at the soldier standing at attention in the entrance. "It's time to go—right now!" he ordered. "Come on! Let's hurry! Ryan is getting his family, too—we'll meet them in the hall." He looked from Christina to Rachel. "Rachel, honey, you'll have to leave your jewelry and most of your books behind—just take what's in your suitcase and backpack. Your Bible's packed, you say?"

Rachel nodded. She glanced back and forth from the window to the door, twice.

"Good. Come on, hurry!"

Christina and Rachel slung their backpacks over their shoulders, then grabbed their purses and suitcases; on the soldier's urging, they left without locking their door. "How long are we going to be at Petra, Daddy?" Rachel asked.

"Until Jesus returns, sweetheart, three-and-a-half years from now." Richard didn't look back. "We'll be safer there than anywhere else."

They met the Whittakers in the hall, then took the elevator to the hotel lobby; outside, they found two jeeps waiting by the curb. Christina paused to look at the sky. "It's so sunny and so warm, and the breeze feels so good," she said. "Not a cloud in the sky." She climbed into the back of the jeep, followed by her daughter.

Richard smiled, then followed suit. "Yes, God has heard our prayers for the weather conditions, and for the day of the week. The rain clouds have finally cleared out and it's unseasonably warm once again, which suits me just fine!" Rachel grinned, as she hugged her purse to her side, then set it in her lap. She had already set her suitcase on the car floor at her feet.

She leaned against her mother, taking deep breaths. Christina put her arm around her daughter and patted her upper arm. Minutes later, they arrived at the airport, where the two families scrambled out of the jeeps. Ryan and Richard made a beeline for their planes, accompanied by their families.

Pausing, Christina gazed down at the smooth concrete at her feet, then at her husband. "I'm pleased to see that it's going so well." Richard nodded agreement.

At Richard's request, a soldier escorted his family to the plane he had been assigned to fly. "Pray," he told his wife in an undertone, as they reached the entrance. "Puccini's going to order that we all be run down and murdered, so we are still going to need God's protection. Even those of us who are flying, I suspect."

"And you shall have it." Tess appeared next to them. A ruby brooch sparkled on her chest in the sunlight. "God has assigned a great many angels to protect the people fleeing the city, including myself. And Michael. Also, He has heard your prayers for ideal weather conditions, as well as your prayers that the evacuation take place on another day but Saturday. Don't fear, Richard, but pray. And trust God."

She patted his arm. Richard and Christina nodded, then Christina left to lead Rachel to one of the passenger seats. Tess disappeared.

Meanwhile, Jacob and Sam arrived at the valley a few moments later. A huge multitude milled around, surrounded by various vehicles.

A shout from a megaphone silenced the crowd. All turned to face the general standing on a rise near them.

"We are going across the Jordanian border—to Petra!" General Meir's voice boomed from the megaphone he held in front of his mouth, followed by a faint echo. "There we will stay until the threat of annihilation by Puccini or by our other enemies is behind us. Since last night, supplies have been airlifted there, so you will not be without food and clothes during our stay in that rock city. What we cannot provide, Jehovah will. In order to get you there safely, though, we must proceed in an orderly manner!"

He paused. "As you may know, airplanes have been made available to transport those who are infirm or who have small children—those who will be at the greatest risk, should Puccini attempt to run us down. Other soldiers are transporting those people to the airport right now. The rest of us are coming to this valley, to ride in the jeeps, the trucks, the buses, and the many taxicabs and other cars the city is making available for this emergency evacuation."

He nodded toward the assembled soldiers milling below. "These soldiers will conduct you to your waiting vehicles. Rest assured we will do all in our power to keep families together."

It took an hour to assist all of the people on board the various vehicles. During that time, plane after plane took off in the distance. Their screeching squeals reached Barak's ears as he watched them take off.

Back at the temple, a startled Puccini blinked, then stared around him, scanning the now-silent temple courtyard. Those around him did the same, gaping at him and at one another.

Grim-faced, Puccini stalked back to the Holy of Holies and scanned the room. The dead priests' bodies lay in burnt piles on the floor. "What—what has happened?" he asked Elijah Dayan, as he entered the room and slowly approached his boss.

Dayan shook his head. "I don't know, excellency, but something did. It seems we were hypnotized." His voice shook.

Pressing his lips into a tight line, Puccini jerked a cell phone out of his pants pocket. "What is happening?" he barked.

"The residents of Jerusalem are fleeing the city, Your Worship," the voice on the other end said.

Puccini cursed. "Then we will have to kill them all! Order out the EU army—immediately!"

"Yes, Your Excellency." A click followed.

Puccini glared at the others, his face beet-red. "I will show these rebellious people who is god!" Spitting on the floor, he stalked back to the courtyard, then toward the entrance, followed by the others. 

**END OF CHAPTER 12 **

4


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Meanwhile, back at the valley, the vehicles took off. The last plane had disappeared, in the direction of Jordan. Monica rode in Tess' red convertible in the rear of the crowd, silently praying. Moments later, the dreaded sound of army tanks reached her ears.

"They're coming!" she told Tess.

"Greater is He that is in us than he that is in the world, baby," Tess replied. Behind her, Andrew nodded knowingly. Gloria smiled.

Behind them, hundreds of angels marched in tandem, waiting for action. Many of them, Monica noticed, were her former colleagues—Search-and-Rescue angels. Others were warrior angels under Michael's leadership. Still more consisted of caseworkers like her. She knew that God had assigned still other angels to guard the fleeing planes, ready to protect them from any air attacks. Monica gazed at the cloudless sky, beaming a smile of gratitude, then brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

Suddenly, one by one, the vehicles sputtered to a stop; frightened, bewildered people clambered out, gaping at the approaching tanks. "Puccini's sent them!" a woman screamed. "Why did our cars have to go out now?"

"They're going to kill us all!" a man shouted. The rest of the fleeing refugees scrambled out of the vehicles, shrieking.

Jacob climbed out of his own jeep, staring at the army, his heart pounding. Sweat formed on his palms. Seeing the angels, he rushed toward them. "I thought you said Jehovah would protect us!" he shouted.

Tess raised a hand to calm him down, then stepped out of the convertible. "And so He shall, Jacob Barak. Don't start doubting Him now. Just watch and see what the Lord is going to do."

"Is Michael here?" Jacob asked her.

"Yes, he is, and he will do his job, so don't worry. Michael's assignment is to protect your people, and with the help of his angelic army, he will do so." Tess patted his shoulder. Jacob wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead with his soft cotton handkerchief, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

Monica stepped out of the convertible, her pearl earrings swaying in the breeze. Blades of grass flattened beneath her shoes as she approached him. "Remember the armies of Pharaoh, Jacob?" she gently reminded him.

Chagrined, Barak nodded. _We're all acting just as the ancient Israelites did,_ he thought, ruefully.

Monica touched his arm. "It will be no different here. Just as God intervened supernaturally to save the Israelites from Pharaoh's army, when He parted the Red Sea, so will He do for you. Just watch and wait."

With a nod, Barak turned to face the still-terrified multitude. Supernatural peace had flooded his heart, driving out the panic that had at first possessed him. He raised his hand for silence; the panicky cries subsided. "We have the promise of God that He will stop them from killing us all," he shouted. "Do not panic; do not be afraid. God will not let Puccini's army murder us."

He turned back to Tess. "Where is Michael?"

"Michael will appear when the time is right." Tess squeezed his arm.

The tanks slowly came into view; at the same time, several nuclear missiles whizzed overhead, then turned south. Clearly, they were meant for the fleeing planes. The breeze died down. Fixing her eyes on those missiles, Monica clasped her hands into a tight ball and pressed them against her chest; next to her, Tess put her hands on her hips and glared up at them.

A moment later, the missiles landed on a distant hill beyond the valley, without exploding; Tess gave Monica an approving nod. _Thank You, Father,_ the Irish-tongued caseworker silently prayed. The soft breeze returned, once more caressing her cheeks.

Michael appeared in front of her, still wearing his snow-white robe. Heavenly light poured off his body. He patted her shoulder. "Good job, Monica," he told her.

He strode through the throng of angels toward the rear, in the direction of the tanks. Monica and Tess hurried after him to watch; Andrew stayed behind with Gloria.

The warrior archangel watched the approaching tanks, a grim expression in his eyes, arms folded across his chest. Behind the angels, the crowd of people stood hushed and motionless. The hum of the tanks' engines grew louder and louder.

At last, Michael raised his right hand above his head, his face raised toward the sky. A low rumble under the earth grew loud. A violent earthquake jolted the crust of the earth; a hundred feet in front of the assembled angels, the ground split from horizon to horizon. That crack grew wider and wider till it was large enough to swallow a house.

The tanks did not stop approaching. Instead, they fell into the huge crevice, one by one. The ground troops following the tanks tried to flee, only to be swallowed by a second fissure opening behind them. When the last member of the EU army had disappeared into the earth, the fissures closed again. The earthquake ceased; the rumbling subsided.

Michael slowly pivoted to face the crowd. Marching through the angelic throng, he stopped in front of Jacob Barak. "All right, everyone, continue your journey!" His booming voice carried throughout the valley. "The glory of the Lord is your rear guard, and He will get you safely to Petra. Your vehicles will function now, until you arrive there. You will stay in Petra until the Glorious Appearing of your Messiah, Jesus Christ, three-and-a-half years from now. We angels will accompany you there."

Earsplitting shouts of joy and thanksgiving reached his ears as the people climbed back into their vehicles. The engines started immediately; within moments, the fleeing refugees were on their way again.

Jacob approached Michael. "I thank Jehovah for sending you here," he said. "You certainly know how to protect us."

Michael touched the prime minister's arm, then gently wrapped his fingers around it. "God has protected you so far, and He will not stop doing so. Now get in your jeep and follow the others." He tightened his grip on Jacob's arm, his face stern. "And I believe you have some unfinished business with your cousin to take care of, when you get there."

Jacob acquiesced. He knew what he had to do. "Yes, I do."

Michael released his grip; returning to his jeep, Jacob climbed inside. Still at the wheel, Sam turned the ignition key; the jeep's engine roared. "You will do what Michael told you to do?" the Special Forces angel asked him; sighing, Jacob nodded. The rest of the angels, now invisible, marched alongside the vehicles. Tess, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria followed the others in Tess' Cadillac convertible.

When the refugees came to the Lebanon border, the border guards waved them through. Hours later, the vehicles pulled to a stop in front of the rock city of Petra. By then, glittering stars dotted the velvety-black sky. Climbing out of their vehicles, the refugees crept through the narrow crevice that served as an entrance leading into the city. Some of the angels moved to the front of the line, unearthly light pouring off their bodies, lighting the way for the refugees.

When the last person had made it safely inside the towering rock walls, everyone relaxed and milled around. The planes had arrived earlier, and the refugees who had come to Petra on them had set up generators and floor lamps. Soft light shaded the canyon.

Jacob leaned against the nearest stone pillar, and sighed. _Thank You, Jehovah!_ he silently prayed. Out loud, he added, "Now what?" 

**END OF CHAPTER 13 **

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	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

"Hello, Jacob." Monica appeared in front of him, a kind expression etching her face. Jacob smiled at her, then gazed for a moment at the towering buildings cut into the rock on both sides of the canyon.

Monica touched his arm; Jacob turned his gaze toward her. The angel nodded toward David and Ben, chatting with several others. "Don't you think it's time you made things up with David?" she asked softly.

Jacob sighed. More and more, his hate felt like a heavy weight he yearned to be rid of. Sam, Monica, and Michael were right—it really was time to end the feud. Goodness knew his people would face enough hate from Puccini, and from their Arab and Russian enemies. He was so tired of living in enmity with David. By now, all he wanted was to be friends with both cousins again. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, then turned to face Monica.

"All right." He gave her a wan smile. "I will." Monica beamed approvingly. "But—" He frowned. "Now that we're all here, how are going to feed everyone? In the short time we had to make preparations, we didn't have time—or space on the helicopters—to store a lot of food."

"God will feed you and your people while you are here." Monica touched his shoulder. "Just as He did your people during the exodus from Egypt. He will also provide water."

"And what about our clothes?" Jacob glancd down at his suit, now rumpled.

"God will preserve your clothes so that they will not wear out. Just as He did for the ancient Israelites fleeing Egypt."

Nodding, Jacob slowly approached his cousins, his shoes thudding on the stone floor. David froze as he saw Jacob approaching, his own eyes widening. Ben did likewise, a questioning glance on his face.

Jacob took a deep breath, then swallowed. Trying to force a smile across his face, he extended his hand toward David.

"I'm sorry," he told David and Ben. "I'm just a fool, and a stubborn one at that. I shouldn't have hurt you the way I did so long ago, David, and I shouldn't have allowed hate to poison me in the years since."

David laid a hand on Jacob's arm. His fingers pressed the cotton of Jacob's sleeve against the skin. "I'm just as guilty of that as you are," he said, his voice cracking. "I was so bitter toward you, I didn't even want to think about being friends with you again." Impulsively, he threw his arms around his cousin. For a long moment, the two embraced, tears wetting their cheeks.

At last, Jacob stepped back. "Forgive me?" he whispered.

David nodded. "Yes," he whispered back, his voice hoarse. He gasped. "I just realized something," he whispered. "I haven't worn a nicotine patch since night before last, and I feel no craving whatsoever! God has delivered me from my cigarette addiction!"

Ben laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. "That is good news! Something tells me cigarettes are going to be scarce here, so I'm glad you've kicked the habit." David and Jacob nodded agreement.

Approaching footfalls caught Jacob's attention; he pivoted to find Richard and Ryan approaching them, followed by their families. "I just saw," Richard said, a beaming smile on his face. "You don't know how this makes me happy." He looked from Jacob to David, then patted the shoulders of both. Christina and Kristen beamed, as did Rachel. Little Nicole in Kristen's baby carriage just gurgled and cooed; next to her, Jeremy laughed and waved. With a chuckle, David and Jacob waved back at the two-year-old.

"And me," Ryan added. He looked toward the far wall, where a long table covered with a glistening white cloth had suddenly appeared. Huge bowls of steaming food stood in a row on it. Savory, spicy smells wafted toward his nose; his stomach growled. "And since it seems that God has provided us with some supper, let's go now and get some. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry!"

"Yes, and I've got to feed the babies, shortly," Kristen added. "Then I've got to find someplace to put them to bed; it's past their bedtimes!"

Chuckling and teasing, the small group hurried toward the line now forming. As Richard waited, he noticed Michael—once again appearing human, but wearing a brown tunic instead of an IDF uniform or a snow-white robe—picking up his paper plate and approaching Tess. Once more, she had on a chef's outfit. A towering lamp stood behind her, flooding the table and the surrounding area with light.

"Well, well!" Michael sniffed, a pleased expression etching his bronze face. "My favorite dish—tuna knish! Tess, you're a lot softer at heart than you let on."

"Oh, hush!" With a snort, Tess heaped a plate with the steaming tuna knish, laid a bagel next to it, and handed it to the archangel. "Just take your plate and find yourself a place to eat. Can't have our warrior archangel going back to his duties, complaining I let him starve." She waved her wooden spoon at him.

Laughing, Michael cradled the plate against his chest. After getting some plastic silverware, a paper napkin, and a Styrofoam cup of tea, Michael marched toward the other end, where people were now kneeling or sitting cross-legged to eat. Several feet from the table, still waiting in line, Richard and Ryan shook with laughter, hands on their thighs; they couldn't help it. Behind Richard and Ryan's wives, so did David and his cousins. They had seen and heard the whole thing. Christina and Kristen exchanged amused glances.

"Well, cousins, things may not be right with the world, but at least things are right among us," David told Jacob and Ben, as their guffaws subsided.

The other two Israeli men nodded agreement. "Yes, David, they are—at last!" With a grateful smile, Jacob looked from David to Jacob, who smiled his acknowledgement. Near them, Monica, Andrew, and Gloria echoed the cousins' sentiment.

"I'm so glad God has restored their relationship," Monica said. "And that He has gotten all these people here safely." She looked at the towering red rock walls enclosing the canyon, and the tall shadows moving on them. "They will be safer here than they would be anywhere else."

Andrew nodded agreement. "They will be _far_ safer, till Jesus comes back, than most of the rest of the world's population. Including those who remained behind in Jerusalem." A sad expression welled up in his expressive eyes. "The second seal is about to be opened. War is about to break out. And it will be very rough for the people who stayed in the city. And those who live in the rest of Israel." He sighed. "Those who hid from the soldiers who tried to evacuate them are going to wish desperately that they had listened and cooperated."

Gloria tilted her head. "Doesn't the Book of Zechariah talk about that? About some invasion of Jerusalem?"

"Yes." Sam joined them, wearing a dark-brown suit. He, too, carried a paper plate heaped with tuna knish. "And the approaching war will nearly destroy the planet and come close to wiping out all life on earth. It will start when the Arab nations invade Israel and Russia steps in to help them. The invasion Zechariah spoke of will happen near the end of the Tribulation, shortly before Jesus returns."

He paused, shaking his head. "The world has never seen such a time as is about to start, nor will it ever see it again." He scanned the people waiting their turns in line. "At least these people will be kept safe through it all."

Andrew nodded agreement. "I won't be appearing in my official capacity here, thank the Lord. I _will_ be kept extremely busy elsewhere, though."

"You and every other angel of death," Sam agreed.

Monica nodded. She gazed at Tess, as the supervisor angel filled plates and handed them out. "What will these people eat, Sam?"

Sam fixed his gaze on the long line of people waiting for their turns. "God will send them manna. Just as He did for the people fleeing Egypt. He will also open a water source for them." The Special Forces angel pivoted to face the other angels, then nodded toward the people milling around them. "Tonight's dinner is a special treat, in honor of the successful flight from the Antichrist's wrath. Mostly, though, they will eat manna and quail, as their ancestors did during the Exodus. And they will drink water."

Monica sniffed. Pleasure gleamed in her eyes. "Well, tonight, I want to drink some coffee. I smell _mocha latté_!" She beamed. "Let's get some!"

Laughing, the angels strolled toward the lines, to wait for their turns, Monica smiling broadly at the star-studded black sky spanning the rim of the canyon. Overhead, a dove flew, cooing softly. 

**THE END **

**©2005, by KathyG.**

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